


Miracles

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is not a secretary!, Discussions of self worth, F/M, Factory workers, Gabriel is trying, Gratuitous nudity, Grief, Homophobia, Honest, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male stripping, and knee high socks, cw: reference to attempted suicide, dance instructor!Beelzebub, devil thongs, devils (and angels) in skirts, discussions of body image, financial concerns, heavenly tartan, it's quite light hearted though, kilt smut, oh my god they were house mates!, she/her pronouns for Beelzebub, smoking really isn't cool, there's also, unemployment, very trying, you can leave your pith helmet on you sexy thing you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: TICKETS ON SALE NOW!Ladies, for one night only, The Tadfield Arms presents, straight from their recent You Tube success,Celestial Cement's Saints and SinnersThey may not be young, they may not be pretty, they may not be any good, but in these hard times they are prepared to take their clothes off for money!Or, the Full Monty/stripper AU I decided I needed more than sanity.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Hastur & Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 166
Kudos: 139





	1. Eating My Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [Chamyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl) for stepping in to beta this. You've made it so much better. 
> 
> The original film is set in Sheffield in the 70s which was a big part of the story as it was the time when all the steel mills were closing down. 
> 
> I've been to Sheffield, once, and I live at the other end of the country, so I've relocated and set it in modern day. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I can still capture some of the heart of the original film despite this. It does however, make the premise much more far fetched, please don’t look at that too closely. 
> 
> Today's chapter title brought to you from Hot Stuff by Donna Summer, and  
> [this scene from the film](https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?fr=mcafee&p=Full+Monty+Hot+stuff+you+tube#id=1&vid=9d31bc935b3671e415fc3b46c549bd15&action=view)

All in all, it could have been worse. The alcohol helped though, as did the fact that the alcohol was being bought by other people. Everyone was being so kind that it'd be rude _not_ to drink it really. Aziraphale had never been one for pints of beer, but he was getting quite a taste for it, all things considered. 

Occasionally someone would hug him and the alcohol helped with that too. Aziraphale caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Tracy, probably Tracy, had left a smear of orange lipstick on his cheek. He rubbed at it distractedly, eyes searching the room for the one person he actually did want to kiss him. 

Crowley was still hunched over at the end of the bar with B, one of his hands pushing his flame bright hair back from his face while the two of them counted cash into piles. Whenever B spoke, Crowley diligently wrote the figure down on a notepad. 

Aziraphale willed Crowley to look up, just for a moment. He was desperate for it. There’d been that beautiful, startled smile smacking Aziraphale right in the solar plexus earlier when Aziraphale had snuck onto the stage, but since then things had rather moved on with no time for apologies. They were still moving on at a dizzying pace. Gabriel, expression still dazed, put another pint in Aziraphale’s hand as he was jostled away from the bar and into the crowd of people congratulating them. 

The alcohol was still helping, and right now it was helping Aziraphale to process the internal screaming of, _my dear boy, they have all seen you completely naked!_

_Starkus!_

_In the buff!_

_Good lord!_

He'd actually done it. _They'd_ actually done it. 

And Aziraphale needed more to drink because what did their success matter if Crowley wouldn't look at him? 

_The music has already started, but that’s alright. There’s still time to slip on to the end of the line. No one will really notice. There we go. Now, just concentrate on the back of the stage. Hips to the left, hips to the right. Count out the beats. Don’t look at Crowley. No! I said_ **_don't_ ** _look at Crowley. Too late. God he's beautiful. What am I doing? What have I_ **_done_ ** _?_

_OK, Just remember to breathe. Remember to smile. Smile like you mean it and they’ll forgive you anything, remember? Cross turn coming up, too late to run now. 'I believe in miracles…'_

All in all, it could have been worse. Then Aziraphale walked out of the job centre and into the overcast town centre to find two of his childhood nightmares waiting for him. They lurked by the war memorial, empty eyed and sharing a ciggie that was being determinedly and methodologically smoked right down to the filter. 

Hastur glanced up, grinning with that mad bastard smile of his. 

Aziraphale, with a great force of will, reminded himself that this wasn’t the corridors of St Beryl’s in the nineties, and did not flee back into the job centre with a view to locking himself in the toilets. He didn’t manage to keep walking either. 

Hastur’s grin left his mouth but stayed in his eyes as he took his turn on the ciggie before passing it back to Ligur. 

“Didn’t think to see you here.”

Ligur, always the more stoic of the pair, simply huffed. 

“Why would I not be here?" Aziraphale gestured behind him to the hulking brown monstrosity of the Thameside Complex where the job centre was housed. "I worked at Celestial too.” Aziraphale tried to smile. He knew he was in a much better position than most. 

“Yes, but more transferable skills you've got, aye?” 

And didn’t Hastur just manage to make that sound positively filthy?

“The same transferable skills as with all the other personal assistants. There's suddenly quite a glut in the market, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Oh God, he sounded so prim. So proper. 

Hastur looked positively delighted by this. Smiling like a shark scenting blood, he stood up. 

Aziraphale couldn't help it. He stepped back. 

“Aziraphale!” 

Aziraphale jumped. The voice calling out was only familiar because it featured heavily in Aziraphale’s more risque dreams. Not a particularly sexy voice, but adorably snarky, and a touch dorky, and always accompanied by the most beautiful mess of a human being Aziraphale had ever seen. 

His heart skittered just a little bit faster and Aziraphale tried to keep all looks that might reveal his inner turmoil off his face as he looked up. Anthony J. Crowley hurried towards him. His collar was turned up around that temptingly long neck and the chill breeze ruffled his shockingly beautiful hair. Dark glasses obscured his eyes and a half smoked cigarette hung from one long fingered hand. 

“How did you get on?” Crowley waved the cigarette in the direction of the job centre. 

“Oh, so, so.” Aziraphale felt he’d been calm, not too desperate. He’d given the impression he’d be willing to do what it took to get another position, but not willing to just take any old thing that was offered to him. “If I'm prepared to travel though they think they can find me something.” 

“Don't have a car, do you?” Crowley said.

“No.” It was one thing for Aziraphale to have watched Crowley keenly, but the idea he may have been watched back was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. He must have looked shocked because Crowley quickly held up his palms. 

“Not a stalker. Used to see you at the bus stop." Crowley took a drag on his cigarette.

Aziraphale watched Crowley's lips move, inhaled the second hand smoke as much as he could. It jumped straight to his veins, awakening an ache that never quite went away. His fingers twitched, blood desperate for the hit of nicotine that used to calm everything down. Nope. He'd quit. Absolutely, this time. 

“Ah, yes, speaking of buses…” The 11:03 was due any minute. And as much as Aziraphale wanted to ask Crowley out for a coffee, perhaps at that cute little patisserie by the church, Hastur and Ligur were watching with the focus of hungry vultures. Plus he really should save the handful of coins in his pockets. Mother had always told him to look for the silver lining, and unemployment would do wonders for his diet. She’d have approved greatly of that, no doubt. 

The ache of that was an old friend too. One who you really wanted to move on from, and yet insisted on popping round at the most inconvenient times or friend requesting you on social media. 

“Well, lovely to see you all.” Aziraphale made a point to include Hastur and Ligur in that benevolence. “Perhaps we can meet again on a happier occasion?” He began to edge past the war memorial. When he thought it was safe to turn his back on Hastur and Ligur he did so, and began to quicken his steps.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hurried after him. “You’re right. A happier occasion!” 

“Yes?”

“That’s what I’m working on right now, actually. Me and the guys, we have a plan to make some money. We’re going to need more bodies though. Is that something you might be interested in?” 

“It's not anything illegal, is it?”

Aziraphale hadn’t talked to Crowley often. Completely different departments. Not even friends, really. They’d had the dolphin exchange at a corporate event last year, and then there had been the mortifying ordeal of the Christmas Party. Admiring from afar though, Aziraphale had done that in abundance, and he knew that this smile on Crowley meant mischief. With Hastur and Ligur you could never really tell what they were about. 

He glanced back towards them. Hastur was still on his feet doing really quite obscene things with his hips. He blew Aziraphale a kiss. Ligur's steely facade nearly cracked at that. His lip twitched and his eyes rolled. 

“No,” Crowley drew the word out as he shook his head at them. “Not illegal, no.”

Aziraphale’s interested was piqued. What else did he have before him anyway, other than days of job applications and finally clearing mother’s house out? The ache came back, stronger and warped with relief, and just a whole tangle of baggage he didn't want to deal with. 

“Come along to Celestial’s admin block tomorrow at ten. Hastur still has the keys to let us in. Just for a chat, alright? You don’t like it, you can go. Ok?”

“Ok.” Aziraphale nodded, unsure why Crowley was being so kind. 

“Promise. Just come and hear us out?”

“Promise.” Anyone else would have run a mile, and Aziraphale was sorely tempted. Well, at least to walk a mile quite briskly, anyway. It was Crowley asking him though, and Aziraphale just knew that this was a promise he was going to keep. If nothing else, Aziraphale was rapidly getting to the stage where anything that got him out of mother’s house, moving back in had been a weakness on his part, and away from the lure of lunchtime wine and _Bargain Hunt_ was a blessing. 

_'I believe in miracles, since you came along'. Don't look right at the audience. Just look at the wall behind them. God no, don't look there! There's a mirror! Smile. Breathe. Smile._

The Celestial Cement factory was a sad, empty hulk on the edge of town, right down by the Thames which crawled sluggishly past its southern border. It was terrifyingly quiet as Aziraphale hurried up to the gates. Crowley was waiting for him outside, lounging back against the wall, one foot braced against the brick and head tipped back. As much of his hands were shoved into the pockets of those ridiculous, skinny jeans as he could get. Aziraphale tried not to linger on the stretch of the material across his thighs too much, or the curls of his hair brushing his narrow shoulders. This was a business arrangement, and if not an illegal one, then one that would at least, probably prove to be incredibly dodgy. Still, needs must and all that. The point was he’d got dressed and left the house which made it a good day already. 

Even if he did end up arrested for nicking the lead of the factory roof. 

“You made it!” Crowley pushed his body into a stand, lazy grin spreading across his face. 

"I did!" Oh, yes, wonderful opening gambit. Very smooth, Aziraphale, yes. Aziraphale looked up at the steel grey sky. "Urm."

"Come on then." Crowley pushed open the metal gate enough for the two of them to get through. 

Aziraphale paused just inside. "Are you sure we should be here? Aren't there security cameras?" 

Crowley turned, mischief barely hidden in his smile. "Yes, but it's all taken care of."

"Right then." Aziraphale's blush stung his cheeks. He followed Crowley through the abandoned building, posters already peeling from the walls, and into the canteen. With every step the illicit feeling of doing something not quite safe heightened. 

It was a ‘smoking behind the bike sheds with the cool kids’ kind of buzz. Not that Aziraphale had ever done that, goodness no, but Crowley had always been one of the cool kids. He'd remained in splendid isolation above the gangs and the cliques. Swaying in and out of class with his tie undone and his nails painted, hair too long and attitude too much. Aziraphale hadn't been able to look away even then. He couldn't look away now, nearly stumbling as Crowley held open the canteen door for him. 

As Aziraphale went past him he caught a hint of cedar, something a bit floral underneath it. It would not be sensible to pin Crowley to the door frame and smell his neck, but Lord, did he want to anyway 

Aziraphale stamped the urge down ruthlessly. He'd been spending too much time in his own head. He managed a weak smile at Crowley's puzzled left eyebrow, currently raised at half mast, as he shuffled into the room. 

Hastur and Ligur glanced up from where they were crouched in front of a laptop cursing about wifi. Their eyes raked over Aziraphale, unimpressed, but he was used to it. And rather grateful. Being ignored by the two of them had always been the best outcome by far. 

Aziraphale wasn't so lucky with the other occupant of the room. Gabriel looked tragically disappointed. It was a look Aziraphale was more than used to seeing on that GQ-ready face. 

“Him? Really?” Gabriel asked. He was reclined in one of the awful plastic chairs wearing exactly what he would for any other day in the office. He even had his briefcase with him, for heaven's sake. 

“Good morning, Gabriel,” Aziraphale made himself say as an alternative to snatching up that briefcase and swinging it at Gabriel’s head.

“Why not him?” Crowley sauntered over to help the others try and prod the laptop into life. “He can dance. Did you see him at the Christmas Party? The ladies loved him. He’s the reason why Device always wanted to go out with Celestial's secretaries.”

“We prefer ‘personal assistants’," Aziraphale said automatically. And... dancing? Christmas party? Oh God! He _had_ been dancing. He had been drunk. He had grabbed Crowley’s arse! By accident, of course, but he’d been rather unsteady and Crowley was the closest thing to fall into and… Oh God!

Aziraphale stared pointedly at his shuffling feet. 

“You've told him what we're doing?” Gabriel said, misinterpreting the horror Aziraphale felt contorting his face. 

“What are we doing?” Aziraphale asked. 

Hastur let out a shriek of triumph and the laptop began to play music that sounded like the raunchiest kind of bebop. Not that it could be clearly heard over the distinctly female shrieks also pumping from the speakers. 

With his stomach slowly sinking, Aziraphale edged closer. The video quality wasn't great, and Hastur's mop of hair obscured half the screen but it was very obviously a stage in a club, and the men on the stage were very obviously… 

“Oh, I don't think so!” Aziraphale jumped back, cheeks burning. “That's the plan? Taking our clothes off? To music? _This_ music?"

And the crazy thing was that the madness of stripping ran second to his mother sighing, _dance lessons? Aziraphale, really? Aren't you too old for that now?_

(Because it was never that he'd enjoyed dancing, or that he would dance to her old ABBA records, that upset his mother. It was when he'd do it in a way that couldn't be hiiden and that might cause the neighbours to comment.) 

"Just hear me out," Crowley held up his hands as though placating a wild animal. 

Aziraphale gulped down his fear and tried to hold himself together.

"My ex and her girlfriends took in a show like this over in Chelmsford. I dropped them off, had a chat with some people, the profits were good. Very good."

"But we'll need to pay out so much in advance, surely? Venue, costumes…" Aziraphale stuttered to a halt. "And none of us look like that!" The men had muscles. They had muscles on their muscles. Muscles in places Aziraphale hadn't even realised there'd be room for muscles. And they were all glazed up like Christmas hams. 

"Too soft for it, sport?" Gabriel's heavy hand descended on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Figuratively and literally." 

No one laughed, but Gabriel's own bray was loud enough for everyone, really. 

Aziraphale desperately wanted to say how impressed he was that Gabriel knew the difference between _figuratively_ and _literally_ , but he was too busy melting into a puddle of mortification.

Crowley said dryly, “You told B what you're up to yet, Gabe?” 

Aziraphale’s slow descent into liquid form halted. Puddles didn’t have heartbeats and he needed his to remain solid enough to thrash about wildly. Crowley’s words were better than any heroic rescue fantasy Aziraphale had ever imagined. The moment could hardly be improved upon, until a voice that could make a glacier look cosy said, "And what _exactly_ is dear old Gabe up to?" 

One and a half metres of unfiltered fury in combat boots quivered in the canteen doorway. 

Aziraphale drew back, contributing to the little circle of self preservation the others were already making between themselves and Gabriel. 

Gabriel was left alone, positively wilting in front of a laptop making obscene noises. 

"Hi, sunshine," Gabriel smiled. "What's up?" 

"You’re lying offal in a designer suit apparently, that's what's up. Or is hanging out in the canteen with your mates valid employment?" B's dark eyes narrowed. 

"Oh, they aren't my mates…" 

" _Gabriel!"_ Her voice was pitched to perfectly sound like a slap in the face. 

All of them flinched. 

"Look, this is just a temporary set back." Gabriel adjusted his suit jacket. "I'm exploring options, avenues, opportunities."

B stomped forward. Aziraphale half expected her to grab Gabriel by the tie and drag him home. He tried not to be disappointed when that didn't happen. 

"I don't care that you’ve lost your job,” B snapped. “I don't care that _apparently_ you haven't actually got another one. What I care about is that you lied to me." Her finger jabbed Gabriel’s chest. 

A fresh wave of oversexed screams forced B to take note of the laptop. Her pale eyebrows shot up. “I also care that you're hiding here watching a YouTube video of a male striptease.” She leaned forward, hands on the table. “And quite a mediocre one at that.”

"Look," Gabriel insisted, "this is just brainstorming ideas, what's important is…" He glowered around the room and tugged on B's arm bringing her closer so he could mutter, "I'm still an active financial contributor to our relationship. My share of the next car payment…" 

"Don't worry about that. I'll teach more tap classes." B shook him off and folded her arms. 

"You shouldn't have to."

"And what if I want to?"

It was like watching a lion slink away from a rabbit. Aziraphale tried not to look. Seeing his former boss like this was akin to catching him naked in the shower. Aziraphale tried not to look, but a tiny, wicked part of him was enjoying the spectacle rather too much. He’d have quite liked a picture.

"B, sweetheart. I can fix this. I have a plan…" Gabriel continued. 

"To hang out here and watch…" B looked at them all, slowly, carefully. Aziraphale could almost hear the calculations happening behind her eyes, and he very much did not care for the results she was coming to.

B’s eyebrows lifted again, her jaw dropped, then, "Holy fucking shit!" She burst out laughing. 

_Smilebreathesmile. I can do this. I can be sexy. Crowley’s sexy. Sexy smile. Don't think of Crowley's sexy smile. Oh, fiddlesticks, need to shoulder shimmy. I can do that. Shimmy one. Shimmy two. Promenade._

When B finally stopped laughing she had hiccups. Crowley manipulated the half empty vending machine with a couple of good bashes so he could get her a free bottle of water. When B had wiped the tears from her eyes she looked up, her face still slack with disbelief and wonder. 

Aziraphale adjusted his bow tie in self defence. Hastur had positioned himself just behind Ligur, a hand on the back of his chair. He scowled at B from beneath wild, white eyebrows. 

"You're all serious?” B said. “Gabe, you're serious?" 

Gabriel managed to both shrug and nod. He held her gaze though, chin lifted. 

B nodded. "Right then." She stood up. "Someone turn that rubbish off.”

Aziraphale leapt to obey. He always had been the teacher's pet. The canteen dropped thankfully back into silence. 

There was a stomach tumbling first day of school feeling in the air as B assessed them, striding up and down like a sergeant major. 

“Well then,” she said softly, but with a note in her voice that suggested pain and retribution was just on the other side of it. “Let's see what you've all got.”

Hastur strode forward, rain mac open and hands on his flies.

“That’s not what I meant!” B barked at him.

  
"Worried you'll see something you like?" Hastur sneered. 

Aziraphale admired his balls. B clearly had no intention of doing the same. "No." She stepped up to Hastur, fearlessly laying her fingers on his wrists. His hands stopped. He managed to hold B's gaze, but his swallow was audible. 

"Not in the slightest." B stepped back, her gaze swept over them. "I mean, have any of you thought how we're going to get to that? Have any of you heard of bloody foreplay? It's called strip tease for a reason!"

Which said rather more about Gabriel's sex life than Aziraphale had ever wanted to know. 

Crowley's eyebrow quirked at him. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek to stop his giggle.

"That comes up a lot in kids tap classes, does it?" Hastur sulked.

"No, but quite a lot in the adult burlesque classes I do in the upstairs room of _The_ _Tadfield Arms_." B folded her arms. 

No one dared make a comment to that. They were presumably using all their mental powers not to process that image. Although Aziraphale could appreciate… Oh god no, she was his boss' wife. He wished it was possible to soap out his brain. 

Defeated, Hastur slouched over to the wall and rested his shoulder on it. Crowley, Aziraphale noted, had flipped a chair round so he could sprawl on it backwards and watch the whole scene with a satisfied curl to his lip. The glasses did a fair bit to hide his expression, but he absolutely looked like a man whose plan was coming together beautifully. 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him, but Crowley just smiled. 

B took charge of the laptop, clicking and typing until the opening bars of something bouncy and provocative started playing. Even Aziraphale could recognise _Hot Stuff._ He could only assume B was being ironic. She perched on the edge of the table. “Come on then, boys," she purred in a way guaranteed to bring Aziraphale out in a cold sweat." Show me your moves.”

"Right!" Hastur lifted himself off the wall and cracked his knuckles. He'd never been the brightest pin. 

The next minute and a half was the most confusing of Aziraphale's life. He hadn't been aware actual human bodies could move like that. Hastur seemed to have lost his spine, Ligur was the master of the awkward two step shuffle and Crowley! Good Lord, every single part of his body looked like it was listening to a different song. Azirapahle should not have found that display arousing. Really. It was awful dancing. Awful. He shifted uncomfortably.

At least it looked like they were enjoying themselves. The poor vending machine they were gyrating around in an effort to outdo each other must have been mortified. And the plastic chair Hastur had tried to perform a lap dance on would never recover.

After a horrifyingly fascinating eternity, B killed the music. Her mouth opened. She closed it. She looked at Aziraphale. He didn’t know what to say. 

“What the fuck do you call that?” B finally managed. 

“Dancing!” Hastur said indignantly.

“Dancing?” B hopped down from her perch on the table. “That's six uncoordinated limbs flailing about in a misguided bid for supremacy over the others. I've seen a jellyfish with more control over its extremities. Crowley, your hips need a damn restraining order.” 

“Thank you.” said Crowley completely without shame. 

“We wanted to give the audience something a bit extra,” Ligur insisted. 

“If I've got this right the five of you are planning to dangle your cocks in front of the town. That's extra enough for anyone.” B's voice was getting to the point where it could only be heard by dogs. 

“Again, thank you.” Crowley’s grin widened. 

“Right. All of you, this is really simple. Watch me. Three counts rest on four.” 

Aziraphale immediately started to panic. It looked like B was just taking a few steps forward, but it used her whole body, movement traveling from her feet to hips and into her arms. And most disconcertingly her chest in a body roll at the end of it. She did it again, counting the beats.

“Gabriel,” B said when she’d finished. 

Gabriel, who had been keeping well out of the firing line, looked thoroughly uncomfortable at being picked on now. 

“We’ve been married eight years, show me you've learned something," B said, unfazed. 

“Right!” Gabriel cleared himself some space. He approached the footwork cautiously, brow furrowed and the rest of his body unyielding as he stepped carefully forwards, back, forwards again. 

Aziraphale tried not to watch the uncoordinated pain that was his former boss trying to do a mambo in their old canteen. He wondered if he finished edging his way out of the door and walked really, really quickly, would anyone notice he’d escaped?

Gabriel’s grin when he’d finished was far too full of hope. 

B nodded. “You did your best.”

Gabriel’s expression drooped. “Hey, cut me some slack. I'm the best looking one here!” 

“Debatable,” Hastur muttered. 

Ligur tittered dutifully, almost gratefully. 

With the patience of teachers everywhere, B ignored them.

“You can look like Adonis as much as you like. That’s going to mean shit if you move like a brick with a stick up its arse. Alright. You.” B swung round, index finger coming to rest inches from Aziraphale’s nose. 

“Me?” Aziraphale tried not to step back before the intensity of her gaze.

“Weren’t you paying attention?” B’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, yes, I was. Very much so. Just. Hang on.” Aziraphale tugged his waistcoat down, counted out the beat in his head, and then did it again with his feet moving.

He finished in silence. Five pairs of eyes fixed on him. Hastur had his mouth open. Gabriel scowled and Crowley’s silent applause made Aziraphale's heart swan dive. 

“Again,” B said, arms folded. 

It was easier the second time. He already knew he could do it, and he had the rhythm safe in his head. 

“Right,” said B, “that I can work with. The rest of you are shit.”

“Do you speak to the kids like that?” Hastur snapped.

Aziraphale didn’t hear her response, he was too busy basking in Crowley’s smile, and smiling back. 

_They 're screaming at us. Actually screaming. And in a good way. This is fine. Everyone's enjoying themselves. I’m enjoying myself. It’s all fine. 'Since you came along…'_


	2. Reason to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Venue is booked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of attempted suicide at the end of this chapter.
> 
> Bargain Hunt is a staple of daytime British television in which two pairs of contestants are challenged to buy "antiques" from shops or a fair (normally by haggling the original sellers down to offensively low prices) and then sell them in an auction for a profit. 
> 
> Today's chapter title brought to you by You Can Leave Your Hat On (Tom Version as per the film) see it in action  
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlwLcULWLNQ) A fairly long one *snickers* NSFW!

B left them outside Celestial's front gate with strict instructions to be at St. Beryl's school gym, where she taught classes, at 8:30PM wearing comfortable clothing. _"No suits, no bowties, no circulation slaying jeans."_

They'd agreed, how could they not? As soon as she'd left, they relaxed. Crowley stretched his arms, Hastur, awful man, cracked his neck and Ligur exhaled.

Gabriel looked wistfully at the tiny figure stomping her way back into town. 

Aziraphale still couldn't believe B had agreed to help them. She'd listened to Gabriel with no real questions, just acceptance. He needed the support, and that was all that she had to know.

A person who was so cared for by someone else couldn't be entirely a pillock, surely? 

"I guess you guys are lucky to have me," Gabriel said. "Am I right?" 

No, he was an absolute pillock. B must be deranged. 

"We're lucky to have B," Crowley said. 

"Because of me," Gabriel persisted. 

"We're lucky to have each other. We're a team, aren't we?" Crowley asked, inviting every single one of them into his confidence with a heartfelt smile. The mad fool even put an arm around Ligur's shoulder. Ligur shifted uncomfortably but didn't look like he was going to rip said arm off.

Today truly was a day of wonders. 

No one spoke though. There was much foot shuffling and cloud gazing. 

"You're killing me with your enthusiasm," Crowley said. "You actually are. Come on, let's go to the pub."

"It's eleven thirty in the morning," Gabriel sneered. 

"You got somewhere better to be?" Crowley asked. 

"At home, drinking on the sofa with his hand in his shorts," Hastur chuckled. 

"And _Bargain Hunt_ will be just starting." The words left Aziraphale’s mouth on a whim. He’d been desperate to contribute to the conversation and now he immediately hated himself. Here he was, standing with Anthony J. Crowley, the two most feared bullies of St. Beryl's, and the former captain of the football team and he'd just mentioned _Bargain Hunt._ Whatever meagre kudos he'd achieved earlier was trickling away. Why not just admit to his period drama addiction or that he was seriously contemplating learning how to knit while he was at it? 

Ligur looked at Aziraphale with an intensity that was quite frankly terrifying, and said, "Can you believe the loss they made on that eighteenth century butter churn yesterday?" 

A moment of stunned silence descended. Ligur's desperate gaze never wavered. 

"No!" Aziraphale breathed finally. It _had_ been quite a staggering loss, but then, in his opinion, they'd overpaid for it in the first place. 

"Fucking outragous!" Ligur snarled. 

"Yes, completely," Aziraphale managed. 

"See, we're all getting on like a house on fire," Crowley said. "But without all the screaming and collapsing masonry."

"Pub, then." Hastur gave Ligur a look that was almost relieved. 

"Pub." Ligur nodded grimly.

"Fine!" Gabriel conceded. 

"Pub!" Crowley retrieved his arm from Ligur and looked ready to drape it over Aziraphale instead. He checked the move at the last minute, shoving both hands in his back pockets. "Pub?" he asked Aziraphale while the other three ambled off. Gabriel was trying not to rush or lag behind, but also give the impression that he certainly wasn't walking with Hastur and Ligur. 

Inside Aziraphale a furious battle between acceptance and refusal took place. There was going to be blood by the end of it. To avoid making a decision of any kind he stalled and said, "You _wanted_ B to find us. Is that why you talked Gabriel into this?" 

Crowley blinked. Aziraphale had no idea how he could tell with Crowley's glasses on, but his head moved back slightly, and his lips parted in a way that was suggestive of blinking. 

"Partly." Crowley sounded impressed, almost fond. "Also, and don't ever tell Gabriel I said this, but what he lacks in personality he makes up for in abs."

"Did you tell on him?" Aziraphale gasped with fake outrage. 

"How dare you! I’m not a snitch. Nah, Dagon still works the surveillance cameras at Celestial. She's B's best friend. I may have made sure she was on shift this morning and no doubt she saw us break in and did the dirty work for me."

The words knocked the air from Aziraphale’s lungs. "Break in! We just broke in? You said Hastur had a key!" It was hard to speak and breathe at the same time, but sheer terror allowed Aziraphale to manage it. 

"Which he should have handed back in with his ID card. Don't worry, Dagon's cool, and she got a show out of it." Crowley said quickly. "It's OK. Honest."

"We could have been arrested!" Never mind that there was now actual footage of Aziraphale doing a body roll alive in the world. He was going to faint. 

"But we weren't arrested. Won’t be.” Crowley’s voice was soft, warm. Like honey slowly dripping in Aziraphale’s ear and settling his nerves. “Come on. I'll make it up to you. Pub?" 

Well…after that, Aziraphale did rather need a drink. Finally, he nodded. "Oh, very well, pub."

_I’m here, I’m committed. Time to take my jacket off. Just a jacket. Belt first. Slowly, slowly, it’s a tease, not a race. There. Easy as pie. Buttons next. ‘Since you came along, you sexy thing’._

As they shuffled into _The Tadfield Arms_ along with the other morose day drinkers, Tracy gave them all a sympathetic nod. "What can I get you, loves?" 

"Soda and lime, please," Aziraphale said, knowing exactly how much change was in his pocket. 

"Bit frou frou?" Hastur accused, but with markedly less vitriol than he’d used towards Aziraphale before. Goodness knows what would have happened if Aziraphale had ordered what he really wanted, with cream and umbrellas and cherries on cocktail sticks. Another silver lining of unemployment, he supposed. 

"A pound fifty, love," Tracy said pointedly to Aziraphale. "What are the rest of you drinking?"

Hastur sifted through the coins in his palm. "Same," he grumbled. 

Gabriel, probably the only one among them with less monetary concerns, manfully forewent a pint to also endure a drink that was primarily mixer. 

"Nurse those all afternoon if you have to," Tracy said as she lined the drinks up on the bar. "Honoured to have celebrities here, we are." This was followed by a wink so salacious that a devil would have blushed. 

Aziraphale raised his eyes, dread tickling his spine just as the decrepit jukebox in the corner started playing _You Can Leave Your Hat On._

"Our fame precedes us?" Crowley swung around, leaning back on the bar to grin round the room. He nodded towards Anathema, the evil juke box manipulator and Tracy’s co-worker. "What have you heard, Device?"

"It's what we’ve seen!” Anathema, came over and dropped a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. 

“Here you go.” Tracy slid her phone along the bar, towards Hastur. Aziraphale made himself edge closer to him so he could see the worst of it. The only saving grace of the YouTube video of them dancing in the canteen was that the sound was off, and that meant none of the other regulars were tempted to come over and watch it too.

“That’s Dagon’s YouTube account that is,” Hastur growled. “Bloody Dagon.”

Aziraphale watched it all unfold, the dreadful knowledge of his own performance at the end making him fidget. Crowley took it all in his stride, sharp canine caught on his lower lip and brows furrowed. “All good publicity,” he mused. 

“Crawly!” Hastur’s head whipped up. “You…”

Crowley smirked. 

Several expressions flitted across Hastur’s face before realisation dawned and he decided on, “...fucking genius.”

“Beauty of it is Dagon probably hasn’t even realised she's doing us a favour,” Crowley said. "Tell me you shared it, Device?" 

"With everyone I could think of," Anathema draped herself over Crowley's shoulders to watch the phone screen. "This is priceless."

“You did this on purpose!” Aziraphale squeaked. 

“Nah,” Crowley shrugged a shoulder. “Dagon thought it up all by themselves. I just provided them with the opportunity for revenge after Hastur kept stealing their sandwiches from the communal fridge.”

“Why would you do this on purpose!?” Gabriel barked as his own rather robotic dancing had its moment of glory.

"For the exposure," Crowley said. 

"Exposure, that'll be right." Anathema cackled. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes tight when his own performance came on, then gave in and peeked. At least he’d had his back to the camera and no more than the top of his head was really on show. Still, it was definitely him, and… he wasn’t awful. At least, not as awful as the voices in his head, most of which sounded like his mother, had told him he would be. 

And her cronies wouldn't know how to use the Internet would they? Mikela from bingo and that 'lovely' Sandra down the road wouldn't be logging on to YouTube when there were net curtains to twitch. 

"Quiet in here, isn't it?" Crowley said to Tracy when the video had finished. 

"It's early. Not everyone is a hardened drinker like you boys." Tracy smiled, her eyes keen and flicking pointedly at their soft drinks. 

"You need some local celebrities bringing a crowd in.” Crowley leaned over the bar, his own smile wide and charming. 

Tracy lifted her perfectly pencilled eyebrows. "I would pay to see that. Go all the way, do you?" 

Crowley held her gaze. "For you, Trace? I'd go as far as you'd let me."

"Then you'd better come upstairs."

"Tracy! I thought you'd never ask!"

_'Where did you come from, baby? How did you know I needed you?' I am really starting to hate this song and yet I can’t stop singing along to it._

  
  


The upstairs room of _The Tadfield Arms_ was a long space that ran almost the length of the building. It had a stage at one end, a mirrored wall at the other, and a tiny bar shoved in the back corner. Last time Aziraphale had been here he’d been in a too tight black suit surrounded by mini quiches and insincere sympathy. The heavy curtains over the stage, and the mirror along the back wall had been drawn. He stood in the doorway, aware of his lungs moving, his blood thumping. Whenever he thought of his mum's death he was left with a sour mix of sadness and relief in the back of his throat. 

Hastur climbed straight onto the stage and began striking poses while Ligur found a chair and plopped down into it, arms folded.

"I'll need a hundred pound, up front." Tracy put her hands on her hips. 

Crowley looked up from inspecting the bar. "Even considering our recent online success?" 

"Still need a deposit, love. Not that I don't trust you, but none of you have done this before, have you?" 

"Makes us all the more excited to do it now."

"I'm sure. A hundred pound, love."

Crowley’s assurance faltered. His tongue darted out to lick his front teeth. 

"We want the upstairs bar open," Gabriel folded his arms. "And a time slot on a Saturday night. And we’ll give you eighty, because you’ll get money from the bar and don’t tell me you aren’t going to haggle over a percentage of the ticket sales as well."

“Well then.” Tracy sideyed Crowley. “Perhaps you and your financial manager would like to step into my office?” 

Her ‘office’ was three plastic chairs pulled together in the corner. 

The whole thing looked very intense from where Aziraphale was standing. The mere idea of confrontation made his hands flutter nervously to his bowtie, so he left them to it and decided to sneak off home. He could see how much his mother's extensive collection of Crown Derby angels would be worth if he sold them on ebay. He could possibly make enough from them to pay for the house to be cleared, and then he could get the estate agent round for a valuation. 

He had a plan. He did. And if he left now, the others may well forget all about him. 

No such luck. 

Hastur and Ligur caught him at the top of the stairs. Just outside the door to the toilets, which brought back rather unpleasant memories. Aziraphale's back bumped the wall. Ligur leaned his shoulder on the frame of the door to his left. Hastur used his extra height to plant his hand firmly by Aziraphale's right ear, leaning in with a dirty smile and a waft of stale cologne. 

"It wasn't personal. It was never personal at school," Hastur began. 

"And you were good at keeping your nose clean," Ligur growled, momentarily taking Aziraphale's attention away from Hastur's nose hair. "Always ready to throw someone else to the wolves if it saved your own soft skin."

Was that really how they'd seen him? That they _had_ seen him and thought about that at all was horrifying. He wasn't like that, was he? 

"I, erm…" Aziraphale gave up trying to carve his way through the wall with his shoulder blades and settled for shrinking as far into his coat as possible. 

"Not that we _like_ Crowley." Hastur examined his nails. "He's a flash bastard. But he was always accepting of us." 

"Not judgemental." Ligur shifted and folded his arms. "Did us a solid, recently."

"So although we don't _really_ like Crowley, we don't like you a whole lot more," Hastur concluded with a grin. 

"I thought it wasn't personal?" Aziraphale tried to smile, tried to appear friendly while his pulse jack hammered. 

"It's not. We dislike most people, but if the fire gets too hot and you let him down…" Hastur trailed off ominously. 

"If you let him down…" Ligur whispered in Aziraphale's ear. He raised his eyebrows which had no right to be quite that intimidating. 

"All getting on OK?" Crowley’s voice interrupted. 

Relief shot through Aziraphale’s brain as the man sauntered down the corridor towards them. 

"Like a house on fire, remember?" Hastur pushed off the wall. 

"Just getting to the screaming bit," Ligur added. 

Aziraphale made himself smile brightly. It failed as Ligur squeezed past him, taking the opportunity to adjust Aziraphale's collar and clap him on the shoulder. 

Crowley made room for the pair of them to pass by, and once they were out of earshot he turned to Aziraphale. "Were they giving you bother?"

"No, no. Just catching up." Aziraphale readjusted his collar in a futile effort to erase the memory of Ligur's touch. "How was the haggling?"

"Yeah, good. Your boss drives a hard bargain."

"Oh, he's not my boss anymore," Aziraphale corrected him. And didn't that feel surprisingly good to say out loud? 

"No. You're a free man now, aren't you?" Aziraphale could hear the speculation in that question. Something just below the surface that made Aziraphale's pulse flutter. 

"I suppose I am." He was. Suddenly Aziraphale found himself with no commitments. No expectations weighing him down. The possibilities were staggering. He could even ask Crowley for a drink downstairs, if he wanted to. 

Well, a very cheap drink, but all the same, he could and there'd be no, _Sandra saw you with such and such. If you must do that don't your sort have their own bars?_

"Sorry, look, I need to get going." Crowley waved his arm back in the direction of the stairs. "Need to pick up the monster."

"The monster?" 

"My kid, Warlock. Helping out more, now that I can't pay all the child support. Saving the ex money with after school clubs and things. 'Snice, actually. Seeing him more." Crowley's mouth softened at that. "You'll get to meet him at the rehearsal tonight." 

"Tonight? Crowley!" Not that it was a judgement on Crowley, but really, the less people who witnessed Aziraphale attempt to body roll firsthand the better. 

"B teaches him tap and modern, he'll love the chance to show his old man how to move." Crowley just glowed with pride at that. It was... adorable. It was also the wash of cold water that Aziraphale needed to put an end to his school boy fantasies and just concentrate on the job at hand. Crowley had a son, and an ex-wife. He did not need or want an Aziraphale in his life too. 

"Jolly good," Aziraphale decided, and it was. Kept things simpler, and he was good at denial. Moving back in with his mum had given him lots of practise. "I'll walk down with you, shall I?" 

Although apparently no skills for self preservation. 

Crowley nodded, and they walked down the stairs together. As soon as they got outside Aziraphale fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter. "Sorry, do you mind?" 

"No. Got another one of those?" Crowley asked sheepishly. 

"Afraid not. This is my last one. Ever, I mean." Aziraphale held the now lit cigarette up speculatively. "Absolutely last one." He handed it to Crowley. "Would you like to help me quit? Again?" 

Their fingers brushed as Crowley took the cigarette. "Sure. I quit years ago."

"Current circumstances aren't helping." Aziraphale murmured. 

The rush of nicotine after so long was making his head buzz. They walked down the road, heading up the hill towards St. Beryl's. Occasionally the cigarette would change hands again. 

"Why are you doing this, Crowley? Organising the stripping, I mean?" Aziraphale glanced up at him. 

"Last act of a desperate man, I guess. And it's a distraction. Something to focus on, and at the end of it at least I'll have some money for child support. Something to feel proud about." He shrugged, looking washed out now. Shoulders hunched up against the world. "Hastur and I are doing it to keep Ligur occupied too."

"Ligur?"

"Yeah," Crowley sucked on the cigarette. "He's not been coping too well, stress of it getting to him and all. He… I had to help Hastur drag him out of the river last week."

Aziraphale took the cigarette back automatically. There weren't words for that, just shock and a sadness he couldn't tame. 

Crowley's jaw tightened briefly. "He's sleeping on Hastur's sofa now, we're keeping an eye and they've been talking about using the money we make to start their own security business." 

"Oh, that's good at least," Aziraphale said. His feelings were still all knotted up in his stomach. "I mean, the stripping is certainly a novel idea, but it doesn't seem, well, the most traditional route to take for financial security."

There was something almost fond in the curl of Crowley’s lip. "Not exactly thinking we could make a career of it. Bit of a gimmick, actually, but that's OK. It'll tide us all over."

"I'm imagining how I'll put it on my CV," Aziraphale said thoughtfully. "Limited experience of exhibitionism."

"Isolated incidence of exotic dancing," Crowley grinned beautifully, and Aziraphale felt elated and terrified at the same time. Terror won out, as it was so often able to do. 

"Crowley, I… Honestly, I don't know if I can go through with it."

Aziraphale wanted to. Well, no, he didn't want to. The idea of standing up there on a stage in front of the whole of Tadfield doing anything, let alone taking his clothes off, was the stuff of nightmares. And he hadn't even agreed yet, just bumbled along for the ride. 

Aziraphale wasn't an idiot. He knew he was isolated, adrift and balancing precariously along the edge of depression since his mum's funeral, and then the whole mess of Celestial going into liquidation. The rest of the PA team were nice enough, but they were all older women who treated him like a pet sometimes. He couldn't really talk to them, not when they barely listened to themselves. 

Crowley had given Aziraphale a reason to get out of the house, a reason to be part of a group with a shared goal. He was ridiculously grateful for that. 

And if he could do it, _if_ he could do something that his parents would find so abhorrent, he was sure it would feel like a turning point. A way to step out of reach of their voices haunting him. 

Still, there _was_ the whole matter of being naked in public to consider. 

"Don't know if I'll be able to go through with it either." Crowley tipped back his head, a rush of cigarette smoke leaving his lips. 

Aziraphale allowed himself just a moment to look at Crowley's neck, the way his red hair curled on his turned up collar. 

Aziraphale took back the offered cigarette, trying and failing in his effort to avoid their fingers brushing again. He inhaled gratefully. It gave him an excuse to look away from Crowley's glasses, that warm smile. 

"I guess we can both find out what we're made of together, huh?" Crowley said. 

"Yes." Aziraphale forced all his attention on the cigarette. "I suppose we will."

_'How did you know I needed you so badly?' Wait. Did that woman just wink at me?_


	3. Ba, ba, ba, bah, ba, ba, ba, baaah,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a shock and a housemate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Chamyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl)  
> for betaing and all your suggestions. 
> 
> Apologies for the long notes, it is relevant because I got a little bit too British in one scene. 
> 
> Today's title is from The Stripper by David Rose. I'm sure it's used in the Full Monty, but couldn't find a clip. Instead pleased accept this offering of a comedy sketch of British comedy duo  
> [Morecombe and Wise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fL5YbkxPeq4)  
> preparing breakfast which Aziraphale references. 
> 
> Full confession, if you haven’t seen Zulu (a Michael Caine film), they don’t wear kilts. They do wear pith helmets. 
> 
> The whole premise of Carry on Up the Khyber is that the military prowess of a certain British Regiment is hung *snickers* on the fact that they are brave enough to go naked under their kilts, and the scandal/rebellion that follows the discovery that one of ‘the devils in skirts’ is wearing woolen long johns. Hastur quotes Kenneth Williams' character in the film. 
> 
> Joan Sims was also in the film (getting a little plastered). She is the best. Fight me. 
> 
> B sings lyrics from Gotta have a Gimmick from the musical Gypsy where three strippers give young Gypsy Rose Lee some career advice. There are loads of YouTube videos, but for the sheer mad joy of the performance I would like to recommend these  
> [three lovely ladies](https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?fr=mcafee&p=You+tube+Gotta+have+a+gimmick+cilla+balck&_guc_consent_skip=1606853409#id=2&vid=b5b5d3f727721790d7e3879748ccf357&action=click)  
> at the Royal Variety Performance. NSFW. Mostly because it's obscene how much fun they are having.

Walking down the leafy road to St Beryl's with dry horse chestnut leaves crunching under his shoes and nerves tingling in his stomach was something Aziraphale thought he'd never have to do again. He'd thought he was old enough not to be shrinking with fear as he stepped into the school’s dark, sterile entrance hall. Aziraphale's fingers darted up to the scar on his temple where he'd cracked his head on the corner of the trophy cabinet while running away from Ligur. The assembly hall, to his left, still echoed with hours of hymns and lectures and memories of hiding beneath the stage with a book to avoid lunch times. 

You couldn't escape St Beryl's. It got its claws into your ankles and dragged you back six steps for every one you managed to take away. A microcosm of Tadfield itself, really. Aziraphale had been meaning to leave since he was old enough to realise he could and, when he’d managed to snag a university place, he’d honestly thought he’d never come back. Then his father died and mother got sick and, well, he’d needed to get a job nearby. Couldn’t be helped. He'd done the right thing, at least, and could take some comfort from that, he supposed. 

Aziraphale kept his eyes forward, walking straight over the entrance hall’s parquet floor to the tiles of the newer extension where the gym was. His shoes squeaked on the shiny floor, ghosts creeping along behind him. 

Haunted as Aziraphale was, seeing Crowley sprawled on the bench outside the changing rooms, like he'd forgotten his PE kit, was not as strange as it should have been. His long legs were encased in slinky yoga pants, the black a slightly different shade to that of the tight band T-shirt hugging his ribs. He glanced up from his phone. “Aziraphale. Hi!”

Crowley looked so pleased to see him. Guilt over how long it had taken Aziraphale to convince himself to leave the house bubbled in his stomach. "Yes, sorry I'm a bit late. Being back here is, well, very odd." Although that now took second place to seeing Crowley so casual. There was a Saturday morning intimacy to it that was quite distracting. 

Aziraphale fiddled with the toggles of his hooded jumper with it’s university logo and hoped that his trousers didn't look too much like a pair of his mother's old leggings. Even though that was exactly what they were. They had honestly been the comfiest clothes he’d been able to dig up on such short notice without spending money. 

"Not many fond memories, I guess." Crowley glanced at Aziraphale's legs before clearing his throat and quickly looking away. 

"Some." After all, Aziraphale had 'forgotten' his PE kit quite often too. Did Crowley remember those mornings sitting out here, Aziraphale getting a head start on homework while Crowley listened to music on his contraband compact disc player? Probably not. Aziraphale had made a career of not being seen. Crowley, on the other hand, was always visible and unapologetic about who he was. 

Aziraphale tried to tug his jumper down. He felt terribly exposed without his bowtie and waistcoat holding everything together. 

"Let's make some new memories then?" Crowley pushed open the swinging door to the gym and held it for Aziraphale to walk through first. 

Really, how did the man expect people not to fall in love with him if he kept being so chivalrous? 

"Dad, thought you'd chickened out!" The boy running towards Crowley was also lanky and clad in black. He had hair so dark it shone near blue in the gym's too harsh lights. Despite the almost aggressive dye job and the nose piercing, he had the big brown eyes of a baby deer, and he hugged his dad with enthusiasm. 

Aziraphale decided right then that Crowley's son was positively lovely, and swore that he would never dare tell the boy so. 

"Just rounding up the stragglers." Crowley hugged his son back, dropping a kiss on his head before introducing him to Aziraphale as Warlock. 

"Cool," Warlock said in response. "Nice to meet you, Aziraphale. Really, it is. Not often I meet someone with a name as daft as mine."

"Oi," Crowley snapped. "Manners."

"Likewise," Aziraphale said, which made Warlock laugh in delight.

Aziraphale's own chuckle stuck in his throat when he caught Hastur watching him. He gave Aziraphale a slow nod of approval. Clearly, he hadn't expected Aziraphale to make it to the first rehearsal. Neither had Aziraphale, if he were honest, but it turned out that this was a better prospect than reheated leftovers and surfing iPlayer for old Austen adaptations.

"Now we're all here," B called out from the corner where she had her phone hooked up to a set of speakers. "Any requests?" 

"Oh! Is _Folklore_ on there?" Gabriel asked

Hastur snorted. "Play _Tartini Sonata_."

Aziraphale choked on a surprised laugh. He couldn't help it. He was still recovering from Gabriel and Taylor Swift. 

"Something wrong with classical music?" Hastur threatened. 

"No, no. Absolutely…" 

"Something wrong with me liking classical music?" Hastur stalked forward. 

"Not at all. Very apt." The chaos of that piece especially. 

"Children!" B's voice rose. "While it is possible to strip to classical music, classic for our purposes is more like this." Her finger jabbed her phone. _The Stripper_ blared rudely from the speakers. 

Aziraphale would have recognised the provocative trombones from the Morecombe and Wise sketch if nothing else.

B's hips started bouncing back and forth in time to the music. "If you can't bump and grind to this you're dead."

"Here lies Gabriel Horne." Gabriel folded his arms, biceps stretching the sleeves of his designer gym gear. 

Aziraphale couldn't tell if Gabriel's defensiveness was to preserve his own dignity or a response to just how good B was at bouncing and bopping in that thoroughly disturbing way. They instinctively closed ranks as she undulated towards them. B slunk behind Gabriel, hands on his hips so she could give them a wiggle. 

"Come on, baby," she purred in his ear. "I know exactly what you can do with these."

Gabriel made a sound like he was about to choke. 

A nervous chuckle ran through the group. Aziraphale shot a glance at Warlock, but he was perched on the table by the speakers scrolling through his phone. Gabriel rolled his eyes, his cheeks going scarlet. 

"And you!" B turned on Crowley. "You've yet to convince me you have a spine."

Crowley grinned. He unfolded his arms and swung his hip out to the next beat. More of the tension bled from the room through giggling. As Crowley's hips swung back the other way, Aziraphale's heart bounced loudly against his ribs. Crowley had no right to be that gorgeous while looking so awkward and self conscious. 

B clapped her hands together and cackled. "That's the spirit! I have some stuff in mind for a routine, but I want to give you opportunities to be yourselves too. Your best selves. Cheekiest selves." She ran her gaze over them speculatively. "We can work up to sexy. Warlock, skip to the next track for me."

The song switched to _I Believe in Miracles_. Very apt. 

"Let's start off easy," B said. "Just some moves I might incorporate into the routine. We get those down and practising with the costumes later will be easier. And practise touching yourselves."

“I doubt any of us need practise with that right now," Hastur's attempt at lewdness was rather ruined by how pale he looked. At least, paler than normal. 

"Good to know," B replied, completely straight faced. "Then we can move straight on to you touching each other." 

Aziraphale's eyes swung to Crowley like a pendulum. His heart thudded again. Crowley looked right back at him, eyes still shielded by his glasses, but if they'd not been in the way… would he have looked as deliciously terrified as Aziraphale felt? 

_No, stop it. Don’t go there._

Aziraphale swallowed and looked away only to catch Gabriel's appalled expression. The idea of touching Crowley was one thing, but touching Gabriel? Frankly horrifying. Don’t go there either. What on earth had Aziraphale gotten himself into? 

"Or at least be more physically comfortable with each other," B continued. "You're a team now. Eventually, you're all going to be naked together."

Feet were shuffled, more wary glances exchanged. Crowley stepped boldly into the awkwardness waving his phone. "Come here then,” he told the group while stepping closer to Aziraphale.

He flung an arm round Aziraphale's neck, dragging him into his side. He held the phone up with his other hand, camera app on. 

Before Aziraphale could object, Ligur had shuffled up against his free side and Gabriel was tucked in behind him. 

"Say shimmy," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale tried, he really did, but the oddness of it, of Gabriel doing a thumbs up and Hastur sticking his tongue out, and Crowley's cheek pressed against his… it was so far out of his comfort zone that Aziraphale could no longer find normal in his rear view mirror. 

He swore he was blinking when the camera clicked. 

It was nice though too, being included. Being part of a team, as B had said. Really rather nice. He mourned the weight of Crowley’s arm as soon as it was taken away. 

"Right then. If that's all out of your system, let's start with a cross turn." B grinned. "Warlock, my lovely assistant, will help show you how it's done."

_Another bloody cross turn. Right then, tie, your time has come!_

It was late when they finished rehearsing. Aziraphale was sweaty, tired and starting to really hate both Hot Chocolate and cross turns. Shadwell, who had been St Beryl's caretaker since Aziraphale had been at school, had begun prowling past the door at five minute intervals. He eventually made his point and B allowed them to set out for home. 

"You want a lift?" Crowley leaned on the top of his car, glasses pushed up on his head. 

Aziraphale walked towards him before he'd even made up his mind whether or not accepting was a good idea. 

"I couldn't possibly impose," he demured, but it was rather dark now, and the autumn air had a distinct nip to it. 

"Not imposing. And I'm going your way to drop the kid off," Crowley shrugged, like it was nothing. Like being kind was something to be embarrassed about. 

"My name is Warlock!" Warlock was already settled in the back seat. "Just get in, Aziraphale, he’ll get all huffy and offended if you don’t let him be nice."

“Not nice! I’m cool and mysterious.”

“You drive a volvo, dad.”

“Yes, but in my heart she’s a 1926 Bentley.”

Warlock snorted. “Still not cool or mysterious.”

Aziraphale decided it would be rude to interrupt the discussion, especially as his opinions on cars were limited to the colour and the comfiness of the passenger seat. Besides, Crowley actually had the passenger door open and was gesturing impatiently. Aziraphale got into the car, glancing at Warlock in the rear view mirror. 

The teen was sprawled on the back seat, one arm casually spread over a small mountain of rucksacks and shopping bags. He winked at Aziraphale, his grin cheeky.

Aziraphale looked away blushing. General polite chit-chat was made as they drove down the hill to the row of suburban semis where Crowley's ex lived. 

The car stopped in front of a house with a meticulously kept front lawn. The woman who opened the front door looked just as neat and tidy. She waved as Crowley got out of the car, and held out her arm to Warlock, pulling him into a hug. Another man joined them. Aziraphale was sure that he must be her current husband, was perfectly splendid, but from his view through the car window he appeared quite the thug. All brawn and bulk against Crowley's graceful waspishness. When Crowley stepped out to walk Warlock to the door, the man gave Crowley a clap on the shoulder that looked nearly painful. Aziraphale, who had accepted similar contact from his father as the only form of affection he was ever likely to receive, felt the ricochet of the blow down to his bones. 

Aziraphale fiddled with his coat while he waited for Crowley to return. 

"You're on Eastern Avenue, right?" Crowley asked as he settled back in the driver's seat. 

"Yes, that's me. You can drop me by the letter box on the corner."

They drove in silence for a moment, the street lights flickering slowly past them. Warlock's absence made the car feel smaller and the air inside it more weighted. Aziraphale kept his hands folded tight in his lap. 

"Thad's alright, really." Crowley said eventually. "Bit traditional, but Harriet likes that, I think. Knowing she's going to be provided for." 

"Nice you all get on so well." Aziraphale said quietly. 

"Try to, because of Warlock." Crowley nodded to himself. "Thad's just very male, you know?" 

"Male?" 

"Yeah, yer know?" Crowley rolled his shoulders. "Fast expensive car, big ol' weapon, flaming like anything."

"Oh! You mean - " Aziraphale lowered his voice to a ridiculously deep level. "Male."

Crowley snorted as he turned left at the junction. 

"My dad was the same. I know what you're thinking, he called me Aziraphale, but he chose the name because that angel was a heavenly warrior. Really did have a big old flaming weapon. Sword, I mean."

"You'll have to dig it out. Show it to Thad." Crowley glanced at Aziraphale quickly, eyebrow quirked. 

"I would if I could remember where I left the wretched thing. Didn't really go with my whole aesthetic." Aziraphale sniffed. 

Crowley cackled. "Lost it, have you?" 

"Probably gave it away, knowing me."

"Aw, sure it was the right thing to do, angel."

The teasing sounded fond and warmed Aziraphale all the way down to his toes. This was nice too, and perhaps if he approached it with caution he could do a nice thing for Crowley.

"Thank you," said Aziraphale, and meant it. He glanced in the rear view mirror again at the pile of bags. "Look, ah. Did, uh, did Warlock forget some of his things?" Aziraphale watched Crowley carefully and saw the moment his jaw tensed. 

"No." Crowley's throat jumped as he swallowed. "No. They're all mine. Rent or child support, wasn't it?"

"Oh." Aziraphale looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry."

"’S not your fault. Needed to provide for Harriet and Warlock too. Made my own choice, didn't I?" 

Crowley pulled the car up by the letterbox. They sat in silence. Crowley's face was washed in the fuzzy streetlights, sharper and more shadowed than Aziraphale had ever seen it before. 

He really did look quite intimidating, but it was also a facade that Aziraphale wanted to crack. He didn't want to send Crowley… well, wherever it was Crowley was going to go looking like that. And the knowledge of what Ligur had tried was still a knife twisting through him whenever he thought about it. 

And it was his house now, wasn’t it? Could ask friends to stay if he liked, couldn’t he? 

"Why am I here, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked quietly. An olive branch cautiously offered to Crowley's pride while he worked up the courage to say what he really wanted to. 

"You mean sat in my car after our first Friday night rehearsal? Or are you getting all philosophical on me?" Crowley turned in his seat, lip curling. 

"The first one. Unless of course you do have any insights into the Almighty’s Ineffable Plan that you'd like to share?" Aziraphale asked brightly. 

Some of the edges faded from Crowley's expression. "Nah, I don't bother God and they don't bother me."

"Seems fair."

Crowley leaned back, stretching out his arms. He hummed thoughtfully in the back of his throat. "They'll come see Hastur and Ligur because the two goons will put on a good show. Make sure everyone has a laugh. They'll come see Gabriel for the novelty of it and the secret hope he'll trip over his own ego and end up on his arse."

Aziraphale tried not to giggle and failed miserably. He was rewarded by Crowley's lightning smile, quick, bright and deadly. 

"You," Crowley continued quietly, "They'll come to see you because they care about you. They'll want to support you and help you to do well."

"I'll do well if no one’s watching me." Aziraphale shivered, the denial of Crowley’s words ingrained and automatic. His mother’s voice forcefully setting out all the ways he continued to let her down. What would she say now if he knew what he was planning? And using her house at that?

No, _his_ house. Until he finally sorted out all the tat and sold the wretched place. 

"You're our heart, Aziraphale," Crowley said firmly. 

The laugh tore out of Aziraphale, quick and nervous. He hastily tried to hide it by fiddling with his coat again. 

"And why will they come to see you?" he asked quickly. 

"Me?" Crowley pulled himself as upright as his spine would presumably go. "Fucking gorgeous, aren't I?" 

This time Aziraphale's laugh was joyous. 

"Surprised you even had to ask," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale's eyes flicked nervously down the round to Sandra's house, checking that the lights were off. She'd been his mother's close friend and chief spy, and Aziraphale's inner child wanted to make sure she wasn’t about to witness this.

"I'm at number 32." Aziraphale said quietly. "Drive down a bit and there's a space outside. I'll nip on ahead and dig out the parking permit then help you unload."

"Unload?"

"You can't live in your car, Crowley. It's November and it won't do your back any favours."

"I'm not…" Crowley hissed air out through his teeth. "It's just temporary." 

"Well, staying in my mum's old room can be temporary too. I have changed the sheets since - you know." 

He’d also dragged the worst of the clutter to the charity shop. There it was, the guilt and anger and relief simmering away. Aziraphale swallowed it down. This was the right thing to do, and nobody else’s opinions mattered, did it?

"Good to know," Crowley murmured. 

The weight of Crowley’s gaze on his cheek made Aziraphale blush. "Number 32. Just down there on the left. I'll meet you outside." Aziraphale got out of the car and hurried down the road before Crowley could reply, glancing furtively at Sandra's front window the whole way. He was relieved that by the time he was at his front door Crowley had pulled up to the kerb outside without them being spotted. 

_Still on the tie. I can move my feet and my hands at the same time. 'Yesterday, I was one of the lonely people….'_

Having a housemate certainly had its perks. Combined resources for one thing, because Crowley did insist on paying his share of the shopping and contributing to bills where he could. Aziraphale adjusted his budget accordingly, one eye still on the payments due at the end of the month and the slow creep into his overdraft. 

Crowley being around to keep him from overthinking was also a blessing. 

His presence meant Aziraphale kept attending rehearsals too. He couldn't very well drop off the radar if Crowley was sleeping just down the hallway, could he? Aziraphale hadn't yet managed to work out if that was a perk of the current arrangement or not. 

There was also the confusing matter of how Aziraphale would sometimes walk into the bathroom and smell Crowley's shower gel in the steam, or he'd glimpse the sleek looking black boxers hung over the radiators. Aziraphale tried not to look, or smell, or think about how tantalisingly domestic it was. 

It wasn't for him. Just temporary. Separate bedrooms. 

Memories of his mother's pursed lips and frowning forehead would often help Aziraphale pull himself together. 

Then Crowley would help make dinner. Their elbows would bump, or Crowley's hand would brush the small of Aziraphale's back as he reached past him to get something from the fridge, and Aziraphale could feel the walls of good sense and propriety crumbling. 

It took all Aziraphale's thirty-five years of practising denial not to grab Crowley's shoulders, shove him against the washing machine and kiss him until one of them passed out. 

The rehearsals didn't help. It struck Aziraphale how ludicrous it was to have only just realised that being in a room with Crowley while they both systematically practised taking their clothes off would heighten his crush. About the sixth session in B, the absolute sadist, had, without any warning, made them all strip down to pants and socks and just stand there. 

Exposure therapy, apparently. 

Aziraphale hadn't known whether to cover his stomach or his chest. He tried not to notice how Gabriel's figure was not just due to the cut of his suits, or how nicely muscled Ligur's arms were. Even Hastur, who was pale beyond belief was, well, thin. 

Aziraphale hadn't even peaked at Crowley. Those black boxers did awkward things to him even when they were empty. 

"Alright." B clapped her hands. "I'm not a monster. You're starting to get goose pimples." 

The five of them dived for the clothing piled at their feet. 

"Won't be as shocking when you get there gradually. Speaking of which, I have another couple of surprises for you."

Hastily buttoning up his shirt, Aziraphale didn't allow himself to believe that B had won the national lottery and was going to give them all a cut. 

She'd walked over to the pile of brown boxes that had been stacked in the corner since their arrival. She heaved one on to the top of a fold out table. "I've been putting all those measurements you gave me to good use. Friend of mine works in movie costuming. Helped me put these together from various cock ups and older productions that were selling things off. Hastur, this is yours. Catch."

The helmet she threw at him was pale and domed. It had a chin strap and a slight brim. 

"What's this?" Hastur held it up. 

Aziraphale's stomach began tying itself in knots. "A pith helmet." He said.. “Traditionally headgear from the Philippines, adopted by the British military for serving overseas in hot climates."

"How do you know this stuff?" Crowley, bless him, always managed to sound in awe of Aziraphale's random trivia. Watching _University Challenge_ with someone had never been so gratifying. 

"Big _Zulu_ fan?" Gabriel asked, opening the top of his own box. 

" _Carry on Up the Khyber_." Aziraphale admitted. He’d actually been a big Joan Sims fan. The films had not aged well since the sixties, but he would still watch them just for her performances. Their perfection was one of the few things he and mother could agree on. 

“Ah, _Carry on_ films, of course," said Gabriel as though Aziraphale’s knowledge all made sense now. "I still don't see why that means we have to wear those." He gestured at the pith helmet. "Oh God, no! B! please tell me there aren't kilts in those boxes!" 

B's grim was salacious. She pulled a kilt out of the box with a "ta da" making Aziraphale’s worst nightmare come true. 

"The devils in skirts!" Hastur said in a passable impression of Kenneth Williams, exposed teeth, flared nostrils and all. “ _Think how frightening it would be to have such a man charging at you with his skirts flying in the air and flashing his great big bayonet at you_.”

"Oh, no! Are we really doing devils in skirts?" Gabriel said. 

Aziraphale was seized with the unusual desire to hug him. If even Gabriel objected to the kilts, then B would see sense, surely?

"Not _devils_ ," Gabriel blustered on. "That's so tacky."

Aziraphale’s hope died. 

"Oh, I forgot, you're the archangel fucking Gabriel." B quirked an eyebrow at him. 

This got loyal titters from the others. Aziraphale would have appreciated Gabriel being put in his place more if he hadn't still been transfixed by the pale cream and light blue kilt dangling from B's forefinger. 

"Too pale for devils anyway," she mused. "Got some angel wings we can applique onto the back of the jackets. Tracy will help."

"I can too," Crowley said. He shrugged. "Used to make a lot of my own clothes. Costumes for conventions and that."

B nodded in thanks. 

"I'd prefer to be a devil," Ligur muttered. "It'd only be tacky because biceps for brains over there couldn't carry it off."

Gabriel spluttered in angelic indignation. 

B looked very pleased with herself. Aziraphale's stomach tightened with foreboding. 

"Lucky for you lot your auntie B has got you the best of both worlds!"

With her other hand she fished in the bottom of the box and plucked out something very red, very shiny and very insubstantial. 

She held the thong up by its waist band. There was a devil tail hanging from the back. “ _Kid, you gotta have a gimmick_ ,” she sang as she twirled the thong around her index finger. “ _If you wanna get ahead_."

Aziraphale walked very briskly to the nearest bathroom and locked himself in so he could have an anxiety attack in peace. 

_Bye bye tie. You were a good tie. Shirt is now looming on the horizon.Breathe Aziraphale. Breathe. Right. Right. Shirt next. I can do this. I can do this. Don't think about Gabriel's shiny abs, or Ligur's arms. Crowley likes your body well enough, or he did, anyway._

_Too late. I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t._

  
  


When Aziraphale made it out of the toilet they were all waiting for him. Fortunately there was not a devil thong in sight. 

"Sorry, bit of a shock. Just seemed all rather real just then. I'll be fine." He sniffed. The cold water on his eyes had calmed him, but not decreased their puffiness. 

"You don't have to do this," Crowley said. "Just say if you don't. No hard feelings."

"When are feelings ever not hard?" Ligur grumbled. "But, he's right. Whatever you decide is completely valid and we won't judge you for it." Ligur nodded his head with complete seriousness while the others stared at him in surprise. 

"What? You all said I should talk to people. Been talking, haven't I?" 

Aziraphale sagged against the door frame with relief. It was an out, an out with no censure. They all looked so concerned though, and not about the routine but him. And he enjoyed spending time with them. Between the drudgery of job applications and pining after Crowley, the rehearsals were the bright spot of his day. 

And he’d disappointed enough people in his life already, hadn’t he?

"Just a shock," Aziraphale said again. "It's fine."

"Sure?" B didn't look convinced. 

Aziraphale nodded. 

Thankfully B didn't push. Ligur did give Aziraphale a brotherly clap on the shoulder though as they shuffled back to the gym. As reassuringly as it was meant, or maybe because of that, it was nearly enough to send Aziraphale scurrying back to the bathroom - kindness from Ligur was more unsettling than devil thongs.

"Right, take them home and try them on. You're all pretty much there with the footwork now, so next time we can practise taking things off." B began pushing boxes across the table towards each of them. 

Aziraphale did as he was told. He'd always been good at doing what he was told, especially by small, spiky women with loud voices. 

Later that evening, as soon as his courage was marshalled, Aziraphale stood in front of the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe, all Michael Cained up - apart from the thong. That stayed very firmly in the box where it couldn't judge him. 

Aziraphale adjusted the helmet and straightened up the knee high socks. It fit ok. Felt OK too, if you ignored the hidden velcro and poppers where there should have been buttons. 

Still, putting it on wasn't going to be the problem. He tried to strike a pose, hip pushed out and lips pouting. He looked ridiculous. He was ridiculous. 

A tap on the door made Aziraphale jump. 

"I can see your light on," Crowley said. 

"Sorry, just turning in now!" Aziraphale called back. 

"Don't be a spoilsport. Show you mine if you show me yours."

Aziraphale bit his lip. 

"Don't have to," Crowley said quickly. "Just that I was all dressed up and nowhere to go. You know how it is. Do you… do you know how it is, or are actually reading in bed like a normal person and I’m just an idiot?"

Aziraphale shut his eyes. He couldn’t leave Crowley feeling like an idiot, now could he?

The hallway floor creaking beneath Crowley's retreating footsteps made him jump again. He rushed to open the door. "Crowley?" 

Crowley half turned. He still had the helmet on, but that wasn't where Aziraphale's eyes went. They lingered on Crowley's calves and the way the jacket cinched in at his waist. 

B was an evil woman, but one who knew exactly what she was doing with her sartorial choices. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and in the interests of fairness shuffled fully into the hallway too. He adjusted the hang of the kilt slightly, suddenly very aware that while he had refused to put the thong on he hadn't actually bothered to replace it with anything else. 

The hallway became very drafty. 

His mother's ghost judging his deviant ways, probably. Because it was never about him liking men, just that _you make it so obvious, Aziraphale. How does that reflect on the church?_

Crowley sauntered towards him, eyes going everywhere. "Good turn out, soldier." He smirked. "Wish I had your legs."

Aziraphale tugged on the kilt again,desperate to hide his blush. 

"Hey, no fidgeting on parade." Crowley failed to sound serious as he circled behind Aziraphale. 

"Crowley." Aziraphale rolled his eyes. This was all fine and normal. Two chaps having a knobbly knees competition in the middle of the night. A bit of roleplay on the side. 

Crowley's smile widened as he came back into view. "It suits you. You look sexy. Try and believe it, aye?" 

"You look very nice too," Aziraphale managed without stammering. 

"Nah, not nice." Crowley leaned one hand on the wall. He’d left his glasses off this time, so Aziraphale could see the passage of his gaze as it flicked to Aziraphale’s feet and up again. Butterflies began to riot in Aziraphale’s stomach. He tried to squash them because it was late and he was tired, and - surely, Crowley wasn’t really checking him out. It was the novelty of the uniform, that was all.

"Neither of us are good with compliments, it seems," Aziraphale said.

They stood in a silence that careened towards awkwardness. 

"Did you try the… you know?" Crowley waved his free hand around his sporran. 

"The…? Oh! The!" Aziraphale's blush stung his cheeks. 

"Reckon it will start to chafe a bit," Crowley said. 

"Yes." Aziraphale made a show of fidgeting. "Chafing."

Crowley sucked his bottom lip. "Would it be weird, do you think? Just forewarned is forearmed, forethonged, and all that." His gaze dropped downwards again.

Did Crowley actually mean… ? Aziraphale couldn't decide which terror to deal with first. The image that Crowley was wearing the thong right now, or the knowledge that he, Aziraphale, wasn't wearing anything. 

"No! I mean, not now. I'm still a bit jittery, from earlier." Aziraphale edged back towards his bedroom. 

"Course, yes, sorry. That was weird of me. Night, angel." Crowley stepped back too. 

"Yes, good night. Sleep well."

Aziraphale pulled the uniform off like it was burning him and got into his pyjamas. He buried his face in his pillow and tried not to think of thongs. Crowley and thongs, specifically. Reasonable progress was being made until Aziraphale’s brain processed Crowley’s last words to him. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. 

"Angel?" he said to the empty room. " _Angel_? What the dickens?" 

Wondering what the dickens kept him up most of the night. 

_I_ _can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._


	4. I Needed You So Badly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go out, and clothes come off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chamyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl) you are a star, thank you for the beta.
> 
> Chapter title from I Believe in Miracles by Hot Chocolate, used in   
> [the headlight dance](https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?fr=mcafee&p=headlight+dance+full+monty+youtube#id=1&vid=33f89c4de4968f253c2bd6f5d13323e9&action=click)

“OK, take a break." B stopped the music. "Is there any blood?" 

"Nope." Crowley stopped peering at Hastur's nose and stepped back. 

"Smarts like hell though!" Hastur growled. "What the fuck were you doing?" 

"It was an accident!" Gabriel folded his arms, the pout of his bottom lip sulky. "You shouldn't have been so close! And I notice nobody is asking about my elbow!" 

Aziraphale, who had taken the opportunity to start popping his shirt back up, caught Ligur rolling his eyes and tried not to smirk in response. 

B sighed in exasperation. "Gabe, I love you and your elbow, but it is rather more robust than Hastur's nose."

"Yeah, I'm the injured party here," Hastur insisted. 

"Because you were too close," Gabriel repeated. 

"Yeah, well your timing was off! If you'd taken your bloody shirt off when you were bloody meant to, I wouldn't have been too bloody close, would I?" 

"Children!" B clapped her hands together loudly. 

A murky silence descended. There was a week to go until they did this for real, in front of actual paying customers, and tempers were short 

Crowley’s bouncing about to celebrate the larger than expected ticket sales had not helped anybody stay calm. 

B pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think we're done for tonight."

"Need to take hubbie home and bandage his elbow?" Hastur muttered. 

B's glare could have melted steel. "You were too fucking close," she seethed. "Honestly, Hastur, your enthusiasm is excellent, but you need to slow everything down and actually listen to the music."

This time the silence was complete. All five of them froze, watching B like she was an unexploded bomb. She stalked forward, searching for her next victim. 

"Ligur!" 

Ligur jumped. 

"Smile! Stop lurking at the back like you want to beat someone to death with their own right arm. Gabriel, technically perfect but still moving like a machine. Crowley, good performance and you’re doing all the right steps, just in the wrong damn order. Aziraphale, you have the best rhythm so stop apologising for being here.”

“I—” was as far as Aziraphale got in his own defence.

“You do,” B snapped. “Everytime you  _ breathe _ . You're doing it right now."

"Sorry?" Aziraphale tried. 

"Gah!" B threw up her hands and spun away from him. She marched across the gym floor, put both hands against the wall and then slowly banged her head against it. 

"Should we…?" Crowley looked around nervously. 

"No." Gabriel's voice was firm. 

The steady, gentle thump of B's forehead against brick continued. 

Crowley swallowed. "It's just…"

" _ Nobody fucking move _ ," Gabriel whispered urgently. 

Nobody did. The thumping stopped. B turned back to face them. Collectively, they took a cautious step back. 

B checked her watch. "It's only about eightish. On a, what day is it? Friday night. We need a break. We all need a break. Go home. Put on your dancing shoes and meet me at the train station in an hour. Bring booze. Remember, I know where every single one of you lives."

With that she left, the gym door crashing shut behind her. 

Gabriel grabbed his jacket off the floor. "Well, you heard her. See you in an hour." He hurried after B, kilt flapping madly around his knees. 

"Fuck," Aziraphale muttered. As if the pressure cooker of his emotions didn't have enough to deal with. It looked like they were going out. 

_ Fuck. At this stage I'm going to look more ridiculous if I don't take my shirt off.  _

_ 'Since you came along, you sexy thing…'  _

_ The Ninth Circle _ was on an industrial estate in the next town over, hemmed in by a cinema and a American style restaurant. One of B's ex boyfriends owned the club. Gabriel was not happy about this, but she'd managed to get them all in for free so he was the only one sulking about it. 

Aziraphale was not so much sulking as he was deeply uncomfortable. Inside, the club was packed with bodies all writhing in a fog of dry smoke and neon lights. The ceiling was high, a number of mezzanines above presumably represented the other eight circles. 

Aziraphale was immediately overwhelmed, feeling out of place and overdressed. He resisted the urge to take Crowley's hand and squeeze it hard. 

B ferried them to the bar and got in the first round of drinks: shots of a thick, sticky purple liquid that made Aziraphale shiver down to his toes. It burned uncomfortably, along with the after taste of the vodka and coke they'd been swigging from plastic bottles on the train. 

Like they were sixteen again. 

Not that Aziraphale had ever done that when he was sixteen, but he'd heard it was something one did. 

"Remember!" B screamed over the thumping base beat. "Have fun! Enjoy the music! Bond, if you must!" 

She abandoned them, bouncing off into the crowd, arms waving above her head. Gabriel rushed after her doing a very good impression of a concerned mother hen. 

Hastur and Ligur grinned at each other, teeth oddly coloured in the flickering neon lights. 

They began working their way into the crowd. Ligur tugged Crowley after him by the elbow. 

Crowley looked back. His hand slipped round Aziraphale's wrist, pulling. 

Aziraphale couldn't. He wasn't nearly drunk enough, and didn't have enough cash to get there. It was unlikely that there'd be enough cash in the world. 

He shook his head. Crowley looked about to protest, then his hand slipped away, their fingertips brushed and with one final look back, Crowley became part of the crowd. 

Right then. This at least was familiar. Aziraphale got himself a bottle of water and tucked himself against the wall and the bar. There was a standing table there. He'd guard that for when they all came back, be a base of operations, as it were. Stop people getting lost. An important role that. Aziraphale sipped his water and tried not to feel too exposed by being all alone in a room full of other people’s friends. 

Hastur and Ligur, now minus Crowley, had formed quite a space for themselves. At first it seemed that the rest of the dance floor wanted to avoid the flailing limbs. On closer inspection they had an audience, a bevy of quite feral looking young women were cheering the two of them on as they gyrated around each other. Despite the fact they weren't touching, it looked almost pornographic. 

The spectacle was so terrifying that Aziraphale didn't realise he had company until Crowley screamed in his ear. "Hey!" 

Aziraphale squeezed his water bottle so hard some of it splashed out of the top. "Sorry! You OK?" Crowley yelled. 

The music was so loud Aziraphale understood most of that by lip reading. And Crowley had nice lips. Aziraphale may not have been drunk enough to dance, but he was just tipsy enough for a little bit of shameless ogling. 

"I'm OK!" 

"You what?" 

And good lord, Crowley's hand was on Aziraphale's shoulder, those lips were coming closer. Crowley's cheek practically brushed his. 

Aziraphale tried to collect himself enough to holler. "I'm OK!" in Crowley's ear. 

Crowley pulled back and gave him a thumbs up. 

Aziraphale smiled weakly. His nose was full of Crowley's scent, and he was sure that his touch would be seared into his shoulder for the rest of his life. 

Crowley tucked himself behind the table, leaning forward so his forearm pressed against Aziraphale's. His naked forearm. Crowley had rolled his sleeves up and undone more buttons on his black shirt. There were glimpses of an equally black vest beneath. His artfully styled hair had gone limp with exertion and the liner on his left eye was smudged. It was possibly the sexiest Aziraphale had ever seen him. His grip on the water bottle tightened. Hold onto that and there'd be less temptation to touch. 

Out on the dance floor, Hastur twirled Ligur under his arm, to the applause of their fans. 

"I thought they were straight!" Aziraphale said. He had to say something. Anything to distract himself from the desire scurrying about in his veins. 

"Huh?" Crowley tilted his head. 

"Straight!" Aziraphale gestured to where Ligur was now being dipped backwards over Hastur's arm. 

"They are!" Crowley laughed. 

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, not quite lifting an eyebrow but suggesting that was a possibility if Crowley continued to tease him. 

Crowley crowded in close, breath stirring Aziraphale's hair. "Been besties since nursery. Very comfortable with each other, but straight as a…" He pointed his index finger. "'credibly straight thing."

"Ruler?" Aziraphale frowned. 

"Nah, shooty thing. Arrow. Not like me, all bendy, fluidy." Crowley accompanied this with a wiggle that made Aziraphale's stomach flip. 

"You're lovely!" God, Crowley was. And there was something else he'd said, something about being… fluidy? Something that Aziraphale's sober mind would want to lay out and pick apart later. Right now, his tipsy brain was happy enough that Crowley was here, with him, being bendy. 

"Huh?" Crowley asked, pushing his wilting hair out of his face. 

"Lovely!" Aziraphale said again. 

Crowley's smile stuck on his face for a moment. His gaze, bright with alcohol, held Aziraphale's. "Yeah, more fun than I thought it would be." Crowley turned away. "The happy couple are enjoying it."

B and Gabriel looked to be acting out one of the more risque routines from Dirty Dancing. 

"They really do love each other." Aziraphale sighed. 

Crowley laughed. "Still can't believe it. Shouldn't work, should they? Do though."

Aziraphale tried to decipher that. His brain function was rather distracted by Crowley's scent and the closeness of Crowley's lips, and that Crowley had come over here to spend time with him. Or maybe just to rest? There was sweat dampening the back of his neck and… Thinking about Crowley and sweat was not at all sensible. It created images. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. 

"Crawly!"

Hastur and Ligur bounded over, their swarm of groupies in tow. 

"Come dance!" Hastur had gone a bit wild about the eyes, more so than usual. 

Crowley slithered out from behind the table. He looked at Aziraphale, half smiling and hopeful. Aziraphale had already pressed himself back against the wall. 

Ligur sidled up to his shoulder. "You too." 

"On, no, I couldn't possibly…" Aziraphale said. 

Ligur lifted his eyebrows. They really were the most menacing eyebrows outside of London. But he held out his hand, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale. He wasn't moving, and it would get awkward. Aziraphale hated awkward. He'd been brought up to avoid it at all costs. 

Plus, the gratitude of being wanted and included was entirely unexpected.

"Lovely!" Aziraphale said. He took Ligur's hand and was immediately dragged out from behind the safety of the table. 

After that, there was nowhere to hide from the pack of women. They swept him, and nearly the table too, up with them and on to the dance floor. It was easier to ride along with the tide than resist and risk getting trampled. Aziraphale was caught up in a scrum of bodies all pulsing together. A continuous undulating many headed beast. Gabriel and B had found their way into it too, and Aziraphale had no idea what the song was but it involved a lot of jumping. This would have been much easier to do without Ligur's arm slung around his neck. 

What was the etiquette for escaping a dance partner who was quite good naturedly trying to garrotte you? The song changed to something less bouncy and the fluctuating movement of the crowd rescued him from Ligur's arm very soon anyway. Disorientated, Aziraphale began to work his way back to his table. He narrowly avoided an incident with a lady who insisted he was cute and tried to put her hands in places they had no business being. 

Really, this wasn't a dance floor so much as an excuse to rub against strangers. Barely room to do anything else really, and his 'excuse me's were swallowed by the music. Aziraphale was negotiating his way around a couple who were getting rather too friendly with each other when his hip bumped someone's groin. 

Aziraphale spun round, preparing to apologise profusely and nearly smacked Crowley in the face. Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand before it could do any damage. He didn't let go, but used it to hold Aziraphale still while he shuffled closer, his mouth nearly touching the lobe of Aziraphale's ear. "Easy! Already had one incident tonight."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Mistake. With the movement of the bodies around him and the constant press of the music it just made him more unsteady. His free hand found its way to Crowley's shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight. 

"Alright?" 

Aziraphale kept his eyes closed, but nodded. He didn't let go of Crowley. 

There was no precise moment when they had stopped standing still and started moving, maybe they'd never been still to begin with. After all, the music was relentlessly pushing its way under Aziraphale's skin, pulling him along in its wake. Crowley's hand had migrated to Aziraphale's waist. Aziraphale's palms rested on Crowley's upper arms. They were dancing slower than the people around them, using the music to get closer to each other. 

Aziraphale could do this, was doing this. With another man, where people could see. 

This time Crowley's mouth did touch his skin. They were so close there was no need to shout. "You really are our best dancer."

Butterflies fluttered to life in Aziraphale's belly. He'd always liked dancing, been good at it too. Dancing was just not what boys did. Not at St Beryl's. Not if they wanted all their lunch money at the end of the day or their shirts to stay unripped. Their mothers not to look at them with concern, because no matter how hard Aziraphale tried to hide who he was from her - she knew. 

Nobody here cared, though. No one was looking. They wanted him to dance and to be part of what they were all feeling.

The beat changed. Familiar, provocative. Crowley tipped back his head and groaned. "Bloody B."

Aziraphale was so lust-drunk it took him a moment to recognise the song's intro as the soundtrack of his recurring nightmares. B had climbed up on the step by the dj booth and she was hanging there, laughing like a Prince of Hell. 

Crowley had moved away, leaving Aziraphale just behind his left shoulder. They were indoctrinated. Getting into the opening line up had been a pavlovian response to hearing the song. 

Aziraphale's feet were already taking him into the first steps. A woman in the crowd wahooed. 

Aziraphale froze. Then, heart beating too fast and stomach twisting, he edged backwards and into the crowd. 

No one noticed. And really, who would notice him? It left the line unbalanced, but the rest of them looked good. Or relaxed, and actually in time with each other. Aziraphale joined in the clapping with those around him. 

On the opposite side of the impromptu show B caught his eye. She frowned. 

Aziraphale blushed, shrugged and looked away. 

They were approaching the first anchor point in the routine anyway and then it would all be over. None of them would really start stripping in a dingy nightclub. 

Except, apparently, Hastur would. 

The crowd went mad for it. They'd never get Hastur's jacket back. 

Gabriel, who was taller than anyone else, spotted security first. They fled, bundling Hastur along before he could start swinging his belt around and take someone's eye out. 

_ I did it. Oh my goodness. I did it. No one's laughing. No one's pointing. There is now a woman in the second row sniffing my shirt! Ironically, I hope.  _

"Tea. Tea and toast." Aziraphale bustled into the kitchen. He turned the radio on so there was a soundtrack to his puttering, something to fill his head other than his own treacherous thoughts. 

If he couldn't pretend to do the routine tonight things did not bode well for next week. Best admit that to himself now, while there was still time to change things. 

He just needed to be honest. 

Except he couldn't let Crowley down. He didn't want to, especially after tonight and learning what the press of his hands felt like and how his voice vibrated in his chest when he spoke. 

The teabags had been stewing too long. Aziraphale fished them out of the pot and forced himself back into the living room. 

Crowley had flopped down on the sofa like a starfish. His head tipped back, one hand rubbing his eyes. He was all lovely limbs and a neck that Aziraphale wanted to lick. 

He'd been so close to that neck. The next thirty minutes or so would be hell. Best to get them over with. 

There was marginally more space to Crowley's left, so Aziraphale perched himself there, put down the tray and began to pour the tea. 

The sofa cushions shifted as Crowley stirred. 

"You made it in a teapot? Course you did." There was nothing but warmth in Crowley's voice. An answering warmth bloomed on Aziraphale's cheeks. He handed Crowley his mug. 

No sugar, barely any milk. He knew how he took it. 

"Cheers." Crowley took a sip and leaned back on the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. 

Aziraphale's eyes lingered on him until he found the fortitude to turn his attention back to his own drink. "I had fun tonight," he ventured. 

"Me too." Crowley grinned at him. "Nice to have the night off. Except for B stitching us up. Noticed you got out of it though."

Aziraphale's laugh was too shrill. "Yes, yes, I did." He always had been good at keeping his nose clean and his head down. God, he had been an awful goody two shoes at school, hadn't he? 

"Hard work though." Crowley said. "Imagine stripping every night. For an actual job."

"Imagine it'd help if they wanted to see me naked too." Aziraphale peered morosely into his tea. 

"Want to see you naked."

"I'm sorry?"

Aziraphale's head snapped round. Crowley had gone very still, eyes staring at the ceiling. 

The moment froze around them, bright and hard. 

"Huh?" Crowley blinked, let his head flop to the side so he was looking back at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale frowned at him. Crowley frowned back. Bendy Crowley who had called him angel and had just said, or implied rather, that he wanted to see Aziraphale naked. 

"Hastur was really having a good time," Aziraphale said weakly. 

"All sorts of things seem a good idea when you're sloshed," Crowley observed. 

Aziraphale giggled. "Can't believe you said sloshed."

"Why not?" Crowley sat up straighter. 

"Not exactly a cool word, is it?" 

"Course it is, I just used it. And I am cool."

"If you say so, my dear."

"What?" Crowley's head turned. He had his glasses pushed up into his hair and his attention darted over Aziraphale's face. 

"Hmm?" Aziraphale asked innocently. 

Crowley looked away, sucking on his bottom lip. 

The radio began playing I _ Believe in Miracles _ by Hot Chocolate, because of course it did, the bastard. 

"I swear this song is now haunting me," Aziraphale groaned. 

"Nah, you're just more aware of it." Crowley put down his mug. "Speaking of things that seem a good idea when you're sloshed, how come we've never practised together? The routine, I mean."

"We have, dear, we're together when we practise at the school gym." Yes, definitely a reaction from Crowley to 'dear'. He looked more alert, his cheeks darker. 

"But we've never practised together here. More room down here than in the bedrooms," Crowley said. 

"Now?" The idea wasn't without it's appeal. 

"While inspiration is fresh," Crowley persisted. "And because you avoided it earlier."

"While we're ineb.. Inib… Very drunk, you mean?" If Aziraphale were honest, then being drunk would probably help. And if he could do it in the intimacy of the living room, with only Crowley watching then, perversely, a room full of acquaintances didn't seem so impossible. 

"While we're all relaxed." Crowley stood up decisively. "Come on, angel, live a little.”

It was Aziraphale's turn to flush. Crowley saw it and grinned. That grin would always be Aziraphale's undoing. Plus he'd get to see Crowley naked, wouldn't he? 

It wasn't until Aziraphale was back downstairs, in a kilt, helping Crowley move the coffee table the rest of the way to the wall that he realised he'd have to be naked too. That they would, in fact, be naked together. His nerves pricked with anticipation, or possibly terror. Really it could be either. 

Crowley fiddled on his phone. 

Aziraphale fiddled with his pith helmet. This would be fine. Just two chaps hanging out on a Friday night and taking their clothes off.

"Where's the audience?" Aziraphale asked.

"Thought we could be each others'. You know to offer better feedback and all," Crowley said. 

"Jolly good," Aziraphale replied while internally screaming,  _ oh fuck no! _ Up until that point his worst fear had been facing the mirror over the gas fire. Now it was facing the kitchen doorway, counting the beats until he could turn round. 

As soon as they both did their eyes locked and Crowley snorted. 

"At least pretend to take this seriously," Aziraphale huffed, his own laugh tickling the back of his throat. The music was in his head now though, pulling his muscle memory into action. It was easy to just go along with it. And Aziraphale was relaxed so when the footwork brought them closer together he didn’t resist it.

"Taking it very seriously." Crowley’s eyes wandered over Aziraphale's face, heating his skin. 

The shoulder shimmy brought them closer still, then they were circling each other making a show of undoing the belts on their jackets. 

"Slow down," Aziraphale said. "Not supposed to be undone until we back step."

"You are the star pupil."

Aziraphale shook his head, missed the beat to roll the jacket off his shoulder and had to catch up quickly. "Too apologetic, remember?" 

"Not now. Good to see you smile doing this."

Aziraphale couldn’t resist smiling more. He dropped his gaze, but was still aware of Crowley undoing his tie, pulling it free, nice and slow. 

"Supposed to look at the audience," Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale glanced up. Oh, this was bad. Crowley without glasses on was a force to be reckoned with. Beautiful gold eyes, lined in black. Aziraphale could fall into them, into the heat of Crowley’s skin. Wrap himself up in the scent of him and not come out again until Spring. There were points of colour high on Crowley's cheek bones. His breath was ragged. 

Aziraphale's hands had stilled. The song sped on without them. They were standing inches apart now, no pretence of actually practising. 

"Just keep your eye on me," Crowley said, long fingers dancing down the front of his shirt popping it open. "I'll be there with you all the way. I'll tell you how gorgeous you are." 

Aziraphale shook his head in denial, but he started working on his own poppers again, enchanted with the slow reveal of Crowley's collar bone, a slither of chest. 

"Hey, look at me."

"Looking," Aziraphale dared to glance up again. "Can't stop, actually."

They drifted closer together, like there was an invisible string between their hips. A string getting shorter and shorter with each thump of Aziraphale's heart, each beat of the music. As Aziraphale dipped his shoulder to get his shirt off, as Crowley did the same, he could feel Crowley's body heat. He could barely enjoy Crowley's chest coming into view; they were so close. Just the line of Crowley's jaw, the sweep of neck into shoulder. Aziraphale inhaled sharply. 

Their naked chests bumped. Dizzy on arousal and alcohol Aziraphale kept leaning in. He’d been balanced here for so long, tottering back and forth along the line, half confused and light-headed with it. 

The rims of their helmets clicked together. Crowley glanced up, his smile lopsided and adorable. 

Overwhelmed with his own reckless bravery, Aziraphale snatched the helmet from Crowley's head and pressed their lips together for a brief moment, fast, before he lost his nerve. 

Crowley exhaled slowly. "Don't do that on the night. Actually, yes, do, the ladies would go nuts for it."

"And you?" 

Crowley's hands clasped Aziraphale's face and pulled him in again. This kiss was filthy, open mouthed and messy. Aziraphale groaned as they stumbled backwards, knocking into a side table. Aziraphale put out a hand, reaching blindly behind himself until he’d managed to guide them round it. Crowley pressed forward, pinning Aziraphale to the wall. Aziraphale fisted Crowley’s kilt in his hands, grinding hard against Crowley's thigh. If he’d thought the thongs were uncomfortable before, when sporting a growing erection they were unbearable. He was flirting with the edges of himself again. So close, but not ready to let go completely yet. Not ready for it to be over. Not all over his mum’s old carpet. 

"Bed," Aziraphale gasped while Crowley sucked almost painfully on his neck. The velcro on the back of Crowley’s kilt began to rip as Aziraphale’s grip on it tightened. He shoved his hands underneath the fabric, filling his palms with Crowley's arse and squeezing. God, did the man jog? Do squats? 

Crowley gasped into Aziraphale's shoulder. He hiked Aziraphale's own kilt up to his waist, his fingers teasing Aziraphale's erection through the thong.

"Take it off," Aziraphale begged, hips canting forward. "Horrible thing."

Crowley chuckled and obeyed. The red devil thong ended up hanging off a lamp shade. Then Crowley was fisting Aziraphale's cock, pumping lazily. 

It was hard to breathe, hard to see straight. Then, oh dear God, Crowley sunk to his knees and Aziraphale's head fell back against the wall, knocking his helmet over his eyes. He yanked it off and tossed on the sofa. Aziraphale grasped his kilt with one hand, keeping it out of the way. 

This was worth it. All the stress and the fear, the nerve trembling terror of the show only being a week away. Worth it, to have Crowley on his knees, sucking him down, deep and wet and so gloriously perfect. 

Aziraphale squirmed against the wall. Crowley's fingers dug into his hips, holding him in place. 

"Crowley, your mouth… Fuck, oh fuck, fuck!" 

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s hair, pulling him away before Aziraphale managed to embarrass himself. 

"Bed," he managed again through the hot, desperate tangle of desire. 

“Bed?” Crowley’s eyes were hooded, dazed. His lips were dark and swollen. 

Aziraphale dragged Crowley to his feet so he could kiss him, tongue thrusting obscenely into his mouth. He fumbled for a grip on Crowley’s shoulders and shimmied out from underneath him so they could shuffle towards the stairs. Narrow, shallow things, those stairs. Too steep for two grown men to really snog their way up with any semblance of dignity. Crowley nearly tripped on his own feet as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way off. Aziraphale would have a bruise where his thigh smashed the edge of the stair rail, tomorrow. 

They stumbled down the corridor, loathe to let go of each other, and crashed through Aziraphale's bedroom door, tumbling on to the bed with a poof of the fluffy duvet. The costumes meant they could, literally, tear the rest of each other’s clothes off. Although it was easier just to pull up the kilts out of the way. And to leave the knee high socks to their own inclinations. They weren’t worth the effort when there was kissing to be done and so much exposed skin above knee height to explore. Crowley was on top, mouth and hands everywhere. Aziraphale groaned into the thrusting, wonderful heat of it. Pleasure coiled deep down in his stomach. He wanted to make Crowley feel as good as he did. He wanted to get his hands under Crowley’s kilt, and stroke him, and how much smoother it would be if he had some lubricant. 

Aziraphale pushed Crowley off him so he could wiggle on his stomach and half crawl, half slither to the draw of the bedside table. His fingers just brushed the handle when Crowley bit his arse cheek. 

Not enough to hurt, but enough to make him squawk, and shoot a very annoyed look back over his shoulder. 

Crowley smirked. Unrepentant. “You don’t like biting?”

“I’ll get used to it, I suppose.” Aziraphale tried to sound affronted but couldn’t stop laughing. 

Crowley did it again, and then began to suck the stinging skin, which made fumbling in the draw even more challenging. Aziraphale's fingers swept through forgotten debris until he managed to hold the tube aloft with an “Ah ha!”

Crowley’s eyebrow lifted and he smirked. “Well, wahoo.” Crowley was stronger than he looked. He flipped Aziraphale over and began dragging him back along the bed, nibbling and sucking his way up Aziraphale’s body as he did so. 

“What the hell else did you have in there?”

"Loose change, arh!” Aziraphale squirmed, hands above his head as he tried to get the lube open. “Bookmark collection…lordy. Paperclips." 

"Oooh. Paperclips. Kinky." Crowley had reached Aziraphale's jaw and was nuzzling it in a way that made Aziraphale tremble. 

He was unwinding slowly, inevitably. He managed to work a slick hand between them so he could take back some control. Crowley growled, hips jerking forwards as Aziraphale cupped his balls, squeezing gently. He hissed when Aziraphale stroked his cock, his hands braced on the bed either side of Aziraphale’s chest and back arching as he thrust forward. “Oh, fuck, yessss…”

Aziraphale increased the pace, delighting in the way Crowley’s throat jumped and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Alright, gimme.” Crowley got hold of the lube, and then took Aziraphale in his hand. 

Aziraphale was sure his eyes rolled back in his head. He saw nothing but static as they rolled onto their sides, legs tangled, kilts knotted around their waists and free hands grasping at each other while the knuckles of their occupied hands bumped between them. 

Aziraphale’s breath shortened. He tilted on the edge again, ready and wanting to fall. 

“Is this ok? This how you like it?” Crowley’s voice was right by his ear, warm and heartfelt.

“God, yes. I like you, Crowley. Please!”

Aziraphale had been wound up for so long. His mother’s death, the stress of unemployment, the impending show and the eternal tease of being in the same room as a semi-naked Crowley, watching the way his muscles flexed and stretched as he stripped his clothes off. It all rushed through him in a searing spike of release. Aziraphale gripped the back of Crowley’s neck, crying out into his shoulder as he came hard, every suppressed emotion dragged out of him. It lasted far longer than he’d expected. It left him washed out and tingling. 

He was still stroking Crowley, their hands now wrapped together around Crowley’s cock. Crowley’s forehead pressed to Aziraphale’s, his mouth relaxed. The grip he had on Aziraphale’s waist was desperate. The rhythm of his hips stuttered to a halt as he came with a moan, pulsing over Aziraphale’s thighs and stomach. 

Aziraphale’s first, ridiculous thought was that they should have put a towel down. They really should have taken the kilts off, at least. B would be so angry. 

A laugh spluttered out of him. 

Crowley’s eyes opened slowly. “You had fun then?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale bit his own lip. Then bit Crowley’s. "We've made a mess of our costumes."

“You wait until next time,” Crowley breathed into the kiss. “I’ll get your beautiful cock in my mouth again. Take it all the way down...finish you off like that. Hmmf.”

Aziraphale kissed him harder. Next time. Yes. There would be a next time and it would be wonderful too. 

_ Hahaha. This is fine! This is fun! This is incredibly strange.  _

The morning light sliced across Aziraphale's eyelids, and straight into his brain. Waking up was an unpleasant inventory of the dryness in his mouth and the thumping of blood in his ears. He wanted a drink of water and a shower, but movement didn't seem like a safe option. Plus there was a leg thrown over his thigh that represented a number of matters he didn't feel capable of addressing just at the moment. 

Aziraphale turned his head slightly. Crowley lay face down, nose squished into the pillow and the edges of his hair lit almost golden by the sunlight. 

Beautiful man. 

Aziraphale allowed himself three minutes of not panicking, while he lay there, hands folded on his stomach and watched Crowley sleep. 

It wasn't creepy. He couldn't move yet anyway. 

Then Crowley began to stir. Aziraphale snapped his eyes shut, slowed his breathing. 

Crowley grumbled. The leg holding Aziraphale prisoner shifted and withdrew as though it’s owner was trying for stealth. The bed creaked, then went silent. 

Aziraphale tried very hard not to hold his breath. He was supposed to be asleep, and suddenly felt completely incapable of waking up convincingly. Especially with Crowley watching him. 

He could feel the gentle brush of attention warming his cheek. 

Crowley didn't move. 

Aziraphale was about to cautiously open one eye when fingers brushed his forehead. Carefully, pushing his hair back. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, just in time to catch Crowley pulling his hand away. 

"Morning," Aziraphale tried to sound sleepy. 

"Urh, yeah, morning. You had something…" Crowley gestured at his own forehead. 

"Oh, thank you." Aziraphale ran his fingers over the spot Crowley had touched, imagining he could still feel the heat of it. 

Feeling at a disadvantage with Crowley looming over him, Aziraphale sat up. He winced as his skull made its opinions known. 

"Yeah," Crowley licked at his teeth. "Been a while since I felt this bad." Realisation swept over his face. "Not because of last night. Well, yes, because of last night, but the extraordinary amounts of alcohol. Not what we did, after. That was the opposite of bad."

Aziraphale nodded, his shoulders relaxing. His fingers too, where they clutched the bed sheet over his stomach. "It was very much not bad," he agreed, and was rewarded with Crowley's smile. 

They sat like that for a moment. Looking, smiling, not sure how to make it stop. Not really wanting it to. Aziraphale wanted to kiss, but was very conscious of the desert on his tongue and the post-club clamminess on his skin. 

"Would you like to shower?" He ventured. 

"God, yes," Crowley said. 

"Then breakfast? I have some eggs, maybe some bacon left. Toast?" 

Crowley winced. "Aspirin?" 

"Yes." Aziraphale's own stomach quivered uncomfortably. "Pretty sure there's some aspirin."

_ Home run now. Another few minutes and it will all be over. God I need a drink!  _


	5. Give My Heart Gladly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all coming off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Chamyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl) for the beta and the support.
> 
> And thank you so much to everyone who has read, and kudosed and commented. I really appreciate it.

"Aziraphale!" 

The voice grated over Aziraphale’s nerves. He stopped, keys just in the lock of the front door, and took a deep breath. Aziraphale fixed a smile in place and turned around. "Sandra, how are you?" 

Sandra hovered by the dividing garden fence, one gnarly hand gripping it for support. Her beady eyes flickered over Aziraphale like she was trying to devour him. 

“You look smart.” Sandra made it sound like a surprise.

“I’ve just had a job interview.” Aziraphale failed to sound pleased about that. It had been a long journey for a thoroughly depressing role and all he wanted to do now was collapse somewhere safe, warm and comfortable.

"Glad to see you’ve been doing something productive with yourself. I haven’t seen you in church for a while. No one has, we were all wondering how you were doing." Her eyes narrowed.

Aziraphale’s smile was starting to make his face ache. He  _ had _ been in church more than he ever had when mother was alive. He just went when it was quiet. When he could sit and contemplate. Just him and God, working things out together without fuss. 

"Been rather busy," Aziraphale said weakly. 

"Oh, I  _ know.  _ I've seen your new housemate."

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched painfully. It had been a vain hope that Sandra wouldn’t notice Crowley, but it  _ had _ been a hope nevertheless.

"Oh, Crowley is a friend. I'm helping him get back on his feet." Aziraphale spoke too quickly, too breathlessly. 

Sandra noticed. Something like triumphant sparkled in those dark little eyes. "Been spending a lot of time on his back, has he?" 

"He's had some bad luck, is what I meant,” Aziraphale said firmly. There was a blush creeping up the back of his neck. He stepped closer to the door, twisting the key in the lock so he could nudge the door open.

"I saw him taking the bins out in what looked like one of your shirts." Sandra now had both hands on the fence, leaning over it as though scenting out the sin still clinging to Aziraphale’s flesh. 

"Probably the first thing he found to put on." As soon as the words left his mouth, Aziraphale realised his mistake. 

Sandra's face lit up with delight. "If you need help, Aziraphale…"

"No,no. I'm just tickety boo. Perhaps I'll pop along on Sunday and catch up properly. Must go now, toodlepip!" Aziraphale stumbled through the door kicking it shut behind him. It was embarrassing how fast his heart was beating, how his skin now felt itchy and tight. 

He pressed his palm against the closed door, leaning his weight against it for a moment. The grime of the day made him clammy. An eternal bus ride of the damned for an interview with the office staff of a supermarket had left him with aching feet and severely irritated. Then bloody Sandra shoving her nose in and making him feel fifteen again. 

On top of it all, Aziraphale was sure the day's exertions had left him smelling awful. And of roasted garlic. 

Aziraphale lifted his head as the waft of it drifted down the hallway. 

"Hey," Crowley poked his head out of the kitchen door. "How'd it go?" 

"I don't care. Want to lie down.” Aziraphale frowned. “Are you wearing an apron?" 

"No." Crowley's head disappeared. When it reappeared the floral straps that had been over his shoulders had vanished. Aziraphale didn't doubt he'd find his mum's old apron screwed up behind the sofa, if he ever cared to look for it. 

"Made dinner though. Just pasta bake. Nothing special." Crowley edged the rest of his body into the hallway. 

"You made me dinner?" The world was already becoming a lighter, brighter place.

"I made  _ us _ dinner. Not like I'm just going to sit there and watch you eat it." Crowley sauntered down the hallway, as though it was nothing. As though coming home to someone who cared wasn’t world changing.

"No?" Aziraphale said. 

"Shurrup. Welcome home, angel." 

The kisses were no longer cautious. No longer awkward. Aziraphale's bag hit the floor as his fingers dragged through Crowley's hair. Crowley gasped but didn't object to the change in gear. 

Aziraphale had come home, to Crowley, who'd cooked dinner. The domestic fantasy was too much to bear. He pulled Crowley towards him, and then guided him up against the wall. 

Why not? They  _ were _ systematically desecrating every flat surface in the house, after all. Aziraphale tugged Crowley's shirt free of his jeans, running his nails over the curve of his waist. 

"Umph," Crowley pushed on Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

Aziraphale pulled back. "Sorry, you’re right. I've been on my feet all day. I'm completely  _ foul." _

"Not that. Just, I gotta rescue dinner." Crowley tilted his head back towards the kitchen.

"Ah. Have I got time to shower?" Aziraphale asked, still giddy that he needed to ask because  _ Crowley had cooked him dinner _ .

"If you let me join you?" Crowley lifted an eyebrow. 

The images that evoked went straight to Aziraphale’s cock. Water running down the dip of Crowley's spine and over the swell of his arse. Maybe he'd let Aziraphale wash his hair. Maybe even brush it afterwards. The shrill beep of the oven timer cut through Aziraphale's fantasies. 

"Time's up." Crowley ducked under Aziraphale's arm and hurried back to the kitchen. "Go get in the shower, but don't start without me.” 

Aziraphale hung up his bag and went upstairs. The rumpled and, quite frankly, disgusting suit went straight in the laundry basket. The worries of the day came away as he peeled off his shirt. Aziraphale caught himself humming. This was quite possibly the happiest he'd ever allowed himself to be.

Curse Sandra, insinuating herself like that and making him doubt it. Thoughts of her lingered and he shook his head to clear them. 

Aziraphale got the shower going and tried rinsing his cares away. A creak of the door and a rush of cold air, then Crowley’s chest was pressed to Aziraphale’s back, his half hard cock pushing insistently at Aziraphale’s arse. Aziraphale pressed back, bracing one hand against the tiled wall and reaching behind him to grab Crowley’s hip with the other. Yes, this was what he needed to take his mind off things. Aziraphale wasn’t directly in the spray of the shower now, but the hot water sluiced between their bodies. Crowley’s hands smeared the bubbles over his chest, his stomach, teasingly down between his legs. 

“Missed you.” Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s ear. 

“Ah!” Aziraphale’s head tipped back, eyes closing. “You too. Yes. Very much.” He turned his head, for a kiss that was awkward and delicious with Crowley’s fingers stroking his neck, coming to rest on his jaw and holding him in place. 

Crowley’s cock, nudged between his thighs. The kiss broke. A bit of wiggling, a bit of groping. Aziraphale leaned forward further as Crowley slid between his legs, slippery with bubbles, rubbing against his perineum, the head of his cock nudging Aziraphale’s balls. 

“You alright?” Crowley scratched the back of Aziraphale’s head. The water was drumming down on his back now, trickling down between their bodies. They rocked together, Aziraphale readjusting his grip on Crowley’s hip to try and keep them steady, to try and keep some control. 

Yes, this was alright. This was more than alright. In here, like this, they were safe and warm. All the unpleasantness of the world kept at bay. 

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale forced the thoughts away. “Yes, yes. You?”

“Yep.” Crowley began to thrust harder. “Right where I want to be.” He leaned forward, one hand resting on the wall next to Aziraphale’s. He hooked his thumb over Aziraphale’s pinkie, while his other hand closed around Aziraphale’s cock. 

There was no rush. Dinner could be reheated. Aziraphale shifted his legs closer together, focusing on the sensations of now - heat and skin and acceptance. Crowley kissed his ear again. The last of the bubbles washed away, and the slap of wet skin on skin rose above the sound of their breathing. 

“I love how good that feels,” Aziraphale sighed into the steam. 

“Yeah? Tell me more. Love your voice, makes anything sound filthy.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes again, fingers curling against the tiles as he fucked Crowley’s fist. “I love your hands, Crowley.”  _ And that you cooked me dinner.  _ “I love how your fingers feel digging into me.”  _ And that you’re here. _ “I love…”

Crowley came with a groan, leaning forward over Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale bit his lip, following Crowley over the edge, the words on the tip of his tongue turning into his own cry. He wished he’d said them, and was relieved he hadn’t. The wounds left by Sandra’s insinuations were still fresh. When he told Crowley he loved him it would be with intent and purpose. There wouldn’t be a trace of fear left in him. As that wasn’t today, Aziraphale turned and pulled Crowley to him, kissing the dazed look from his face. The words were still there, but for the time being he’d have to pour them into the kiss.

“We’re going to have to pay that water bill, you know?” Crowley murmured.

“Not tonight though.” Aziraphale kissed him again and tried not to think of anything beyond the shower walls. 

_ Back, step, back step. Don’t want to hit anyone when the kilts come off. Ligur looks like he’s enjoying himself. Smile back at him. He’s a sweetheart, even with those eyebrows. And one. Two. Three. Gosh, it’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? ‘Oh, it's ecstasy, you sexy thing’ _

Aziraphale’s contentment returned the next day when he snuck out of the house early enough to avoid Sandra. He was so content that his humming as he browsed the corner shops shelves for bargains made people glance at him, their own surprised smiles on their faces. 

It wasn't just the sex, although that was all rather lovely. It was also the sitting in his pyjamas, Crowley's feet in his lap while they ate reheated pasta and watched  _ The Good Place _ .

All fantasies of domestic bliss were rudely interrupted by the buzz of Aziraphale’s phone. 

"Mr Fell. Thank you for coming in to see us yesterday. We’d like to offer you a position, but you need to complete an induction scheduled for this Saturday at 6pm." The voice was breezy and self assured. The words rattled through Aziraphale’s mind, leaving his brain struggling to catch up.

"Saturday?” Oh Lord, of course it would be Saturday evening, when the show was scheduled. “Terribly sorry, I have something else on."

The long pause on the other end of the line suggested that this wasn’t the expected answer. "And you can't reschedule?" It asked eventually.

"Afraid not." Aziraphale could just imagine Crowley’s face if he said he couldn’t do the show. He could imagine Hastur slamming him into a bathroom door too, although the thought of Crowley’s disappointment was far more terrifying. 

"Well, that's unfortunate, these things are dreadful to organise and we did expect you to start as soon as possible…" 

Panic and politeness overtook Azirapahle’s thoughts. "Well, I could try and rearrange." Perhaps if the buses were kind? He could take his costume…

"Excellent. We’ll email you through some details."

The call ended. 

Aziraphale clutched the phone to his chest and concentrated on breathing. 

Relief washed through him at the prospect of regular pay, although this was followed by a sinking dread at having to do that bus journey again, and for night shifts too. And it wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for in terms of job satisfaction, but it was a step in the right direction. And just because he had this job didn’t mean he couldn’t keep looking for others, did it?

Aziraphale would call them back after he’d read the paperwork and check how long the induction would last. He ran the bus times through his head, trying to ignore the teeny tiny voice whispering that the others wouldn’t hold it against him if he dropped out because of a job. 

He didn’t want to drop out. Well, maybe a bit, but he couldn’t not take this job, could he? Aziraphale was barely paying attention to his surroundings, and had completely forgotten the next item on the shopping list, when Sandra cornered him.

Aziraphale bit down on his surprised squeal just in time. “Terribly sorry.” Aziraphale went to side-step around Sandra, only to find Mikela from bingo already closing the gap. 

As it would be frowned upon to attack two elderly ladies with a cucumber and make a run for it, Aziraphale gripped his basket tighter and managed to croak, “How lovely to see you both.”

They exchanged a look. It was a look, Aziraphale imagined, lionesses used when agreeing which zebra was the weakest one in the heard. 

“How’s the job hunting going?” Mikela asked, her head nodding in feigned concern. “Sanrdra told me how busy you’ve been.”

“Lots of erm, options.” A strained smile moved on to Aziraphale’s face.

“You can’t tell us anything about this then?” Mikela held up a somewhat grubby flier. Aziraphale had noticed them in various locations around town, and despite trying to ignore them, he had still managed to become depressingly familiar with the aggressive typeface Gabriel had insisted they used. ‘ _ Ladies!’ _ The flier screamed, ‘ _ For one night only!’ _

“Ah. Some friends of mine…” Aziraphale began.

“This would be your friend in the dark glasses?” Mikela tilted her head.

“Well, yes, and…” Aziraphale’s words died a slow uncomfortable death as the two women exchanged a knowing glance, and then turned back to him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and pity. 

“Aziraphale,” Sandra tutted. “You’ve had a shock. You’re grieving. If these people are taking advantage of you…”

“You always were so easily led astray.” Mikela nodded. 

“I was helping them out!” And how Aziraphale hated the way his voice rose, became defensive and panicked, like when mother had caught him with his hand in the biscuit tin. 

“And look at yourself, dear, honestly.” Sandra patted his hip.

“Best find yourself a job with a uniform that stays on.” Mikela tilted her head.

“Your mother would agree.”

“And if you need any help. Financial or spiritual...”

“Yes, well. I must go.” There was nowhere for him to go, hemmed in as he was. Fortunately his frantic fidgeting persuaded Mikela to step back. 

“We’re only trying to help you, dear,” she insisted. 

“Very kind.” Aziraphale made his escape. He put down his half-full basket by the sliding door and went straight home, where he sat on the sofa and stared at the wall, trying desperately to sort out the conflicting voices in his head. There were rather a lot of them, and they were all rather angry. Aziraphale sat there for a while, only coming back to himself when Crowley got home and switched on the lights.

“Bloody hell!” Crowley leapt backwards. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

Aziraphale blinked at the sudden brightness. “It wasn’t dark when I sat down.”

“You ok?” Crowley asked.

“I’ve got a job,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Oh, isn’t that good news?” Crowley sat next to him, cautiously. 

It was good news. Or at least it should have been, but Azirapahle was having trouble feeling very much of anything that wasn’t exhaustion.

“At the supermarket, over where Old Tadfield Manor used to be.” Forming words was like a complicated crossword puzzle.

“Quite a trip.”

“And night shifts too. Thing is,” Aziraphale swallowed. “They have an induction for all the new starters this Saturday night. If I want the job I can’t really get out of it.”

Crowley tensed. “And do you? Want the job?”

Aziraphale stared determinedly at the wall. “I rather think I’d better.”

“What is it? Shelf stacking? Till work? Not exactly what you trained for,” Crowley said quietly.

Why did he have to make this so hard? Aziraphale had tried, hadn’t he? Tried to get it right and embrace the fantasy that he could be someone who could live like Crowley with his mad schemes and not caring what people thought. People did think, though, and he cared. He cared too much. And what they thought was that he wasn’t somebody anyone wanted to see taking their clothes off. Or wanted to see at all, really. Sandra’s touch lingered on his hip, and their words had thoroughly set up camp in his head.

“Neither is stripping,” Azirapahle said quietly.

Crowley nodded, slow and heavy. “Oh. I see. Well. You should take it. I mean if you do want to?”

Aziraphale’s nod was sharp. “I mean, if… if I don’t do it, the routine... they’ll be more money for you, for Warlock.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, yes.” Crowley sucked on his teeth.

The silence settled uncomfortably over the living room. 

“Well.” Crowley got up. “I need to…”

There was a slump in his shoulders, and a tension to his jaw that twisted Aziraphale’s stomach up. 

“I’m not like you! I can’t. I just can’t!” Aziraphale said desperately.

Crowley glanced at him, his lips pressed firmly together. Aziraphale’s stomach knotted. 

“Ok,” Crowley said quietly. “So you won't be at rehearsal tonight then?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve got stuff I need to read.”

“Ok.” Crowley paused at the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Just. You had so many opportunities to drop out if you didn’t want to do it, and you're doing this now?” 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered.

“S’fine.”

But it wasn’t. Crowley slammed the door as he left. Aziraphale stayed on the sofa until he heard him leave. All alone with his thoughts, he went over details of the day while his stomach sunk further with every minute. He stayed there until it was more than obvious that Crowley wasn’t coming back for the night. 

_ Logistical nightmare trying to remember what I’m doing next. What am I doing? Don’t look at Crowley’s face. Well don’t look at his arse either! How will that help in this bloody thong? At least I get to take it off soon. And here we go.  _

Crowley had moved out. He’d left a note that said thank you, but he’d found a place to stay for a while. Which was devastating, but also frustrating, because not having the catharsis of a blazing row and a resolution just made Azirapahle more stubborn about not being the first one to reach out.

Still, he jumped every time the phone rang, and everytime he was relieved and disappointed it wasn’t B ringing to shout at him. 

Ligur had come round on Friday to watch  _ Bargain Hunt _ . He’d brought Azirapahle a ‘congratulations on your new job’ card, which made Azirapahle hide in the kitchen to concentrate on not crying for a good five minutes. 

“Dress rehearsals went well,” Ligur had said. “Shuffled the line about a bit. Means Gabriel’s closer to Hastur, but so far so good!” And then he’d grinned and settled in to bemoan the haggling skills of this episode’s contestants. 

Unsure on what to do, Aziraphale had decided to just focus on  _ Bargain Hunt _ too and tried not to feel like the absolute wanker he most certainly was. 

Saturday came bringing drizzle and loss of hope with it. Aziraphale hung his costume on the front of the wardrobe, and every half a hour he nearly phoned his would-be employers to cancel. Until it was time to go and catch the bus. 

It was like existing in a bubble of reality that was entirely different to everybody else’s. Aziraphale finally made it to the bus stop, where he stood, waiting for the bus - and maybe for a sign from the universe, a hint that he was doing the wrong thing.

But none of them had called him. Crowley hadn’t called him. Ligur said they were all doing fine. They didn’t need him. 

The bus pulled up. The door’s hissed open. 

The driver smiled, and it took all Aziraphale’s willpower not to be sick. 

He needed them. 

He’d found people who’d accepted him. People who liked him, even, and he’d given up on them. He’d given up on it all, along with a hefty portion of his soul, to please other people who didn't even really care. Whose happiness he'd somehow put above his own. 

“You getting on, mate?” The driver asked, with the tone of someone who doesn’t actually care either way. 

“No… I don’t think I am. Sorry.”

The driver rolled his eyes with annoyance and the door’s hissed shut. Aziraphale watched the bus drive away. The next one was in twenty-minutes, which, if it were actually on time, would make him late for the induction anyway. 

The weight hanging over Aziraphale lifted. 

He needed to get home, grab his costume, then run back into town. Show started at seven. He’d need to be there earlier though. It was now half past five. Adrenalin was already starting to buzz through him. Aziraphale hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and began to run. 

_ The end is in sight now. Everything will soon be in sight. “I believe in miracles…” _

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale dropped his door keys.

Sandra leaned over the fence, hungry eyes bright. “Not seen your friend about in a while.”

Aziraphale crouched down to grab the keys off the step. He really didn’t have time for this. It was fast approaching six o’clock. 

“We had a fight. He moved out.” Aziraphale fumbled the keys into the lock.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sandra said gleefully.

“No, you aren’t,” Aziraphale snapped. “But I am. Sandra, lovely to see you, but I really must run. You see, I’m in the middle of trying to make a grand gesture.” Aziraphale pushed the front door open with more force than it deserved, then turned to give Sandra his full annoyance. “I’ve hurt some people I care about really quite terribly, so I need to arrive at  _ The Tadfield Arms _ in the nick of time, so I can take my clothes off for money. Then I am going to apologise to my  _ boyfriend,  _ and if he is amenable I’m going to drag him back here and do awfully carnal things to him. I will try to keep the noise down, but at this stage I really can’t make any promises. Goodbye.”

Aziraphale rather wished he could take a picture of Sandra’s slack-jawed horror. Damn it, there wasn’t time. He settled for a proper, genuine smile instead and ran straight up the stairs. His costume was still hanging on the front of the wardrobe. Thank goodness he’d never been brave enough to give it back to B. 

Should he put it on now? Or Later?

Aziraphale decided that he was not running anywhere in that bloody thong. Right then. He had about forty minutes. 

Good Lord, it’d take twenty just to walk to town. And he’d need to get changed. It wasn’t going to work…

A car horn honked in the street. 

Aziraphale went to the window and wrestled it open. Warlock stood on the street waving both hands up at him.

“Shouldn’t you be supporting your dad?” Aziraphale called down to him.

“Shouldn’t you?” Warlock yelled back.

Sandra had also stuck her head back out of her front door. There was no time to lose. 

“Just coming!” Aziraphale slammed the window, grabbed the costume in it’s dry cleaning bag and scurried back down the stairs. He got half way down the garden path before he remembered to lock up and scurried back again, trying to ignore Sandra hanging over the fence again. 

“You’re wearing that?” She squawked. 

“Yes!” Azirapahle said. “But not for long! That’s rather the point of it. I’d go in if I were you, the cold can’t be good for your arthritis.” 

Warlock took the costume from Aziraphale. “We went to the bus stop first. It was B’s idea to try here.”

“B?”

Obviously, the car currently blocking the road couldn’t be Warlock’s. Aziraphale got into the back of it before he could chicken out. “Thank you,” he said to the driver.

B glared at him in the rearview mirror. “I’m not doing this for you. I have a reputation to uphold, and they have been even worse since you stopped coming to rehearsals.”

“Plus I made her,” said Warlock. “Been nagging her and dad to talk to you for days. Knew you’d come round.”

“Would have appreciated it more,” B said, “If you’d come round a couple of hours ago.”

“Yes. Thank you. Both of you. Can we get a move on?” Aziraphale asked.

B turned the engine on. “Only if you start getting changed in the back of the car. I say we’d promise not to peek, but we probably will. Consider it practise because you missed the dress rehearsal.”

She was an evil woman. Aziraphale didn’t care. It was now six-twenty-five. 

_ Feeling a bit light headed. Probably because I’ve just taken the pith helmet off. Or maybe that's because of where the pith helmet is strategically placed. It’s all coming off now.  _

_ The Tadfield Arms _ was in the centre of town and didn’t have a car park. B pulled up in the unloading zone and kicked them both out, Aziraphale still only mostly in his costume. His shoe laces were trailing and neither shirt or jacket were done up properly. Anathema had the back door open. “You’d better scoot,” she said. “They’re just getting ready to go on.”

“Thanks awfully.” Aziraphale hopped past her trying to get one shoe done up. 

“Nice legs!” She called after him.

“Thank you!” Aziraphale shouted over his shoulder as he started up the stairs.

“Looking forward to seeing more of them later!”

“Very funny!”

_ And now we’ve just taken the thongs off. And I am more relieved than embarrassed because I will never have to wear the bloody thing again.  _

The music had already started when Aziraphale got into the pokey little room behind the stage that served as the dressing room. It was alright though. Everything would be alright. He chose to believe that with near fanaticism. There was still time to slip on to the end of the line. No one noticed he was late. Then Azirapahle just had to concentrate on the back of the stage. He swung his hips to the left, his hips to the right, counting out the beats. He tried not to look at Crowley and failed. God, he was beautiful. What was Aziraphale doing? What had he done?

_ And here we all are. Front of the stage. We are going to do this. God, I hope they’re all going to do this too. Smile, Breathe, can'tbelievewe'redoingthis, count the beats and…  _

All in all, it could have been worse. After the show, Aziraphale slipped out of the back door of the pub and into the chill night air. He searched his pocket for what he promised himself would absolutely be his last cigarette. 

His hands shook slightly as he lit it. Adrenalin now rather than nerves were bubbling in his blood and that felt good. He could do anything. The house was nearly cleared out and Aziraphale decided he'd ride the wave of tonight's success and get an estate agent round first thing Monday. Finally stop using the last few boxes of stuff under the stairs as an excuse not to. Then he'd sell the place and get a flat anywhere that wasn't Tadfield. 

That meant leaving Crowley, but… well, just because Aziraphale had chosen to do the right thing and perform next to him, it didn't mean he was owed anything from Crowley. Deep down, he’d never thought something so nice could last. 

Aziraphale tipped back his head and blew smoke up at the grey clouds and shivered.

He had done the right thing and he felt good about that. Lighter than he had in years. 

"Thought you quit."

"Crowley!” Aziraphale spun round. “I did. I am!" 

"Hand it over then and I'll help you." Crowley held out his hand.

It was strangely intimate, handing the cigarette over beneath the streetlights. A brush of fingers, the glow of the cigarette on Crowley's face as he put his lips over the spot where Aziraphale's had just been. 

"B's got your cut of the takings.” Crowley exhaled.

"That's not why I came tonight."

"No?" Crowley offered the cigarette back. 

Aziraphale took it cautiously. "I owed everyone an apology. You especially."

"Could have kept your clothes on to do that." Crowley grinned without humour.

"Yes, but I don't think it would have meant as much." Aziraphale took a drag from the cigarette, but he was so wired now the nicotine barely touched him. "I’ve been an idiot Crowley, and I need to tell you this before I get drunk, because I do plan to get very drunk…”

“Wait!” Crowley frowned. “You’ve  _ just  _ started drinking? You did the show sober? The rest of us have been three sheets to the wind since lunchtime!”

“I had a job induction!” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley burst out laughing, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “No wonder you were the only one hitting any of the beats!”

“You were watching me!” Aziraphale cried, pleasure and mortification fighting for space in his heart.

“Course! In the mirror opposite. When I could. You’re gorgeous, you idiot.”

Crowley glanced up. He’d taken off his glasses to rub his eyes, and when their gazes met Aziraphale’s heart was all laid bare. He’d been a fool, and thank someone he’d realised that before it was too late. 

He wouldn’t have traded tonight with his friends, or this moment with Crowley, for the world. 

"I'm sorry, Crowley. Truly,” he whispered.

"S’alright. I was selfish asking you in the first place. All this..” He waved his hand to encompass the car park and the back of the pub. “All just an elaborate plan to get you naked really." His lip twitched. 

Aziraphale snorted. "I know you're teasing."

Crowley shrugged, his mouth breaking into a full smile. "Well, it was one of the perks of my elaborate plan. I'm thinking next time we could be Hell's Angels."

"No. Absolutely, quite definitely no…" 

Crowley got one hand on the front of Aziraphale’s coat collar and pulled him in for a kiss. Aziraphale gripped Crowley's upper arm to steady himself, and then proceeded to melt happily with relief. Crowley was so warm, and the kiss was a thorough one. Aziraphale held him tight, kissed him back with all the love and hope that he could. 

"Alright, no Hell’s Angels. What about International Express Delivery Men?" Crowley asked when they'd stopped for breath.

Aziraphale batted his lashes. "If you want to check the size of my package all you have to do is come home with me and ask." 

Crowley made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His hands gripped Aziraphale’s waist tighter. "Don't you at least want me to buy you a drink first?" He eventually managed with some of his usual bravado. 

"It does appear I’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Alright. Drinks first. Can’t just skip out on the others, can we? Then home. With you.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Please. I have missed you rather dreadfully.”

He was sure the smile on his face was ridiculous, but Crowley looked equally goofy and quite adorable so it was probably all right, 

Crowley opened the door and held it open for Aziraphale to walk through. As soon as they were both back in the warm pub Aziraphale pressed Crowley against the wall. Really, he couldn’t help himself. “We’ll go find everyone in just a moment.” Aziraphale nuzzled Crowley’s neck. “I’ve not quite finished apologising yet.”

“Sure, ok take your time...nghk.”

  
_..applause._ _And somebody gave us a wahoo as well! Thank you all so very much. Now, where are my trousers?_


End file.
